Of Salt and Wounds
by Sisi427
Summary: Eric Northman has been though some difficult times. Enough so, to have learned that it is easier and safer to stay cold. He has survived for centuries, numb to a certain extent; calculated, and reserved. When Sookie brings a stray to his door, insisting that he help, he finds himself backed into a corner. He is suddenly obligated to assist, despite his protests. Eric/OC Possible UA
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi all. So this is my first attempt at a True Blood story. The series is one of my favorites, so I hope I can do it some justice. That being said, I'd love some feedback, if it's not too much to ask. Thank you for taking the time to check it out, and I hope you enjoy. Disclaimer: I do _not_ own true blood. The only thing that belongs to me is my OC. **

* * *

"Why is there a Human in Victorian bloomers, bleeding out in my bar?"

Sookie had barely noticed the calm tone that sounded behind her as she pressed down on a gaping wound. Beside her, Tara stood, arms crossed and leaned to one side. Watching with her maker, Pam. Both had been aware of the Viking's entrance, hearing his steps long before the door to his office opened. He stopped over Sookie, peering down at the woman she had no definitely brought with her for some reason.

Despite the crowd that had been there just ten minutes ago, the bar was now empty. Cleared upon Pam's command.

"She's not Human!" Frantically collecting the torn flesh around the unconscious brunette's stomach, Sookie turned to the group behind her.

"Are there any towels? Something to stop the blood! She's going to die!" Frustration weighed on her tongue as she spoke. The three subjects of her gaze exchanged glances before Tara nodded and started to the area behind the bar.

"Of course she is." Focused on the blonde's previous statement, Eric stared down at the injured woman on the floor. He smelled the blood, and could detect the difference Sookie was referring to. There was an unusual scent in the air, but Eric was well-aware of what it was. In less than a minute, Tara returned to Sookie's side, handing her a brown towel to cover the wound with. Once the fabric was out of her hands, Tara carefully stepped back and returned to the side of her maker.

Pam gazed at Eric, crossing her arms as she caught his eye. The woman raised a single brow, clearly knowing of the scent Sookie had referred to as well. As delicious as it was, pooling around the woman, they knew better than to step closer. It was a wonder that Tara sufficed by simply covering her nose.

As knowing as Sookie seemed, bringing the woman to Fangtasia was far from smart. If she thought it was a safe house of sorts, she was wrong. One misstep and that friend of hers would be drained. Completely. Whoever had attacked her before wasn't trying to kill her, if logic was a valid method to use.

"Don't you smell that? She can't be human!" Pressing the towel to the woman's injuries, Sookie quickly glanced at the trio over her shoulder.

"I know a human when I see one." Still as calm as ever, Eric dared to move closer; examining Sookie's work. There was no possibility of a human surviving an injury like the one before him. In an hour's time, Eric was going to have a dead Human, likely a stripper, taking up space on his floor. The smell of her blood would stick to the walls for weeks, and they would have to dispose of her, corset, bloomers and all. The beige fabric of her shirt was drenched in crimson, and one of her shoes hung half off her foot.

"A pirate."

Everybody turned to look at Pam as she spoke, and the sandy-haired vampire remained stoic as she tilted her head.

"The tacky ensemble, she's supposed to be a pirate." The woman affirmed, and Eric slowly nodded. That was reasonable. It made sense, but now he wondered why she was dressed as such. It definitely wasn't Halloween, he would have known. Tara also nodded, her brows furrowed as she cupped her nose once more.

"I let you out for one night, and you bring a tacky pirate back. Shoulda known you weren't ready." With as much of a dramatic sigh as her corset would permit, Pam rolled her eyes and turned back to the bar, striding away as her interest waned. Silently, Tara shot her maker a sideways glare, not daring to speak or inhale the scent that had filled the room. A larger distance seemed to be a better option, and soon, Tara found herself following Pam. She moved to the opposite side of the bar with the woman, finally feeling in inkling of control over her fangs.

"If that's a Human, I'm a parrot. That girl don't smell nothing like a human."

Pam slowly raised her eyes to Tara's the faintest hint of amusement playing on her lips.

"I'll get the bird seed."

"Seriously?!"

Their conversation was interrupted by Sookie, swiping a hand towards Eric as she leaned up and away from the girl on the ground.

The blond man covered his mouth, quickly hiding his fangs. It wasn't his fault, she had moved the woman, tearing open what tiny cover her body could form on the fist sized wound. Blood had poured out of her and assaulted his senses, thus, rousing his teeth with the illusion of dinner.

Again, Pam and Tara turned to one another, both tense from the scent. It had even gotten Eric. He was the oldest of the three; if he was affected, nobody was safe.

"You can squat on pirate girl's shoulder." The playfully flat line was received with a quirky smirk. Pam turned back to the scene before them, watching as Eric retreated. She didn't understand why he didn't just eat the damn human already; clearly, she wasn't going to make it out alive. Without even turning to look at Tara, she continued.

"So where'd you get little miss bloomers?"

* * *

In the dead of night, a knock resonated through the Stackhouse residence. Two steps at a time, Sookie hopped down the stairs, rushing to answer her guest. It wasn't that she had forgotten her plans. The day had been busy, and she had barely had enough time to strip herself of the Merlotte's uniform. The girl was raking her hair back with her fingertips, trying to fix it into a neat pony tail. She pulled a hair tie from her wrist and fashioned the blonde locks in a hasty, yet secure knot.

Maneuvering the door open with her elbow, Sookie found her friend, Tara, waiting with her arms crossed.

"You done?" A single perfectly arched brow raised to punctuate the question, and sookie released a deep breath in the form of a sigh. Greetings were skipped as the blond turned away from Tara, playfully rolling her eyes.

"Not yet, come on in."

No second invitation was needed. The dark skinned woman entered the house behind Sookie and gently kicked the door closed. There wasn't much conversation to be had. While Sookie rushed to tie her shoes, Tara plopped onto the couch, watching the entire time. A moment was spent in comfortable silence, save for the light droning of television.

"So, you know where you wanna go?" Tara's question was met with a grin and flick of the blond's eyes.

"Anywhere. I've had it up to here with all this vampire bullshit." Catching her misspoken frustration, Sookie met Tara's narrowed eyes. "Sorry, not you. You know what I mean."

The dark skinned woman shook her head as she sank into the couch, excusing the slip-up. She knew her friend well enough to know it wasn't an insult. Sookie had been stressed lately, and needed to take her mind off things. When the blond had called Fangtasia, it was clear in her voice. Admittedly, after Tara had been turned, they hadn't had much time to hang out. So on a slow night, with Pam's express (reluctant) approval, Tara had left the club to accompany her friend on a night out.

Sookie pushed herself to her feet and twirled around once, showing Tara a full view of her little black dress.

"Good?"

Following suite, Tara rose to her feet and examined the girl's choice of clothes.

"Yeah, but..." Gently grabbing her shoulders, Tara turned the girl around, frowning, "The hell did you do to your hair?" The question earned a loud laugh as the vampire took hold of the scrunchie around the odd bun-like contraption.

"I was rushing!" A poor excuse for the abomination Sookie had created. Unable to help herself, Tara joined in the laughter and released the gathered blond hair. It fell to Sookie's shoulders and the scrunchie was handed to the blonde as she turned around.

"Leave it down." Eying the girl, Tara couldn't help but smile. Sookie nodded, still chuckling as she examined the hair tie. "So do you know where we're goin'?"

"Oh, yeah," As she spoke, Sookie started back towards the door, followed by Tara. "I was thinkin' , that new bar just outside'a town looks nice." The girl was already outside, pulling a coat over her arms as Tara closed the front door, scowling at her back.

"Oh hell no. You talkin' 'bout that fancy buildin' with the fuckin' 'no fangs' sign out front?"At the mention of the sign, the blonde stopped mid-step. She turned to face Tara, realization crossing her. Still frowning, the girl's eyes trailed to the ground. She had barely even noted that sign.

"Shit..." The mumble was barely audible, but keen ears easily detected the word.

"Shit? Well if I'm ruinin' your plans, you shouldn't of even invited me! You think I'm gonna let this-" Motioning to the scarlet corset laced around her torso, Tara extended her gesture to her stilettos. "-go to waste?! I don't wanna go to no stuck up-"

"No," Just as Tara was about to tell her off, Sookie moved to her side. She grasped the girl's arms, smiling and pulling her to the car beside herself. "No, don't be like that! Come on, lets go have fun! We don't have to go there, there's plenty of other places!"

The vampire was immediately silenced, dragged to the car.

"It's gonna be great!" Sookie continued to grin, as if she wasn't being glared down by her friend as she opened the passenger door and ushered her inside. The door was closed, and Tara crossed her arms as the blonde walked around the car. From the looks of things, it was going to be a long night.

Sookie drove in a familiar direction, which was noticed, yet not addressed by Tara. It wasn't until the blonde parked outside of the exact bar in question that the vampire turned to frown at her.

"Really? How you gon' bring me here still like aint nothin' wrong with it?"

Peering at her friend, Sookie killed the engine of her car. A smile curled her lips and she playfully nudged Tara.  
"Don't act like it's the only thing on the block! Come on, you can flip them off the entire time were walking in." Before Tara could object, Sookie was jumping out of the car, giggling to herself. With no other choice, Tara reluctantly followed suite, careful not to slam the car door behind herself as she eyed the prominent "no fangs" sign. It was lit with light bulbs, beckoning all scared humans to enter what was no doubt a house that required invitation.

A tug at her arm caught Tara's attention, and she found herself being ushered in the opposite direction, to another building. Her eyes found a sign, which she read aloud.

"Temptations?" Beside the entrance was another clear sign, reading "All types welcome". At least it wasn't prejudice.

"That's right!" Playfully wrapping her arm around Tara's, Sookie switched her steps to match her friend's. "I heard they even have a strip bar."

"A strip bar?" Echoing the words, the ebony vampire studied the approaching entrance.

"Yep, they're only open at night and the owner is all about vampire rights. So he added a blood bar. A real one, with flavors." As the blonde spoke, she pushed the door open to reveal what appeared to be a strip club; packed with customers. Tara could smell the blood from the entrance and caught sight of a man across the room, biting into a caramel wrist.

Over the pair, another lit-up sign read, "you bite it, you heal it".

"Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout, Sook." Brown eyes were busy taking in every dancing form. Every scantily clad human, both male and female. Each feeding vampire and intoxicated human, coexisting and serving one another. Sookie remained still, grinning at her friend as their arms unlinked.

This wasn't what she'd had in mind. When Sookie had claimed to be tired of the vampiric men in her life, she wasn't lying, but she couldn't leave Tara out of the fun. There had been whispers around town about a new bar that was catering to life and death. People had said both were perfectly incorporated in one human-owned establishment. From the looks of things, it appeared to be such.

While they stared into the crowd, trying to decide where to go first or who to watch, a woman slowly strutted into view. A human, dressed in heels and lingerie, her dark hair swept up into an overly extravagant up-do. Both girls focused on her as she laid a feather boa around their necks and stopped at a small podium.

"Two? Y'all together?"

"Yeah, she's mine." Tara was the first to step forward, and her statement earned a chuckle. Waving her hand, the woman nodded.

"Alright, give me your hand."

Glancing towards Tara, the blonde extended said hand, which was pressed with a purple stamp. It was dark against Sookie's skin, easily visible despite the dim lights, a picture of a single long fang. As soon as the stamp was pressed onto Sookie's skin, the woman motioned around the room, smiling.

"Enjoy. Don't be scared, we're all friendly here." With that, she left the two to their own plans.

Stepping forward beside Sookie, Tara couldn't help but grin. This was interesting. A new club that welcomed both humans and vampires. They had a way to claim humans, though a stamp wasn't enough to fight a vamp off, it would definitely serve as a warning. Everybody was having a good time; dancing, being danced on. Watching strippers or enjoying a meal. It seemed too good to be true.

"Maybe I shoulda dressed up more."

Tara didn't even glance towards Sookie. She already knew what the blonde meant. People in costumes speckled the crowd, some dressed like pirates, others belly dancers. Most was lingerie, but Tara knew better. Some of the vampires were dressed as they were more comfortable. Something from what she assumed to be their "time zone". True historical garb, which was widely accepted in the club, and gave the crowd a chance to relive their moments.

Such a rare occasion wasn't one to waste. Across the room, a woman had started to beckon to her. Waving Tara over with the slight flick of her wrist.

"Nah, you good." Without so much as another word, Tara was gone. On the opposite side of the room, woman's wrist in hand. The feather boa unevenly hung down Sookie's side, one end on the floor. She caught sight of her friend, fangs out; pulling a laughing woman closer for the bite.

Well, at least she was happy.

Though she was in a crowd of people, Sookie still felt alone, in a sense. She threw the long end of the boa over her shoulder and started into the crowd, aimed towards a leather couch. It seemed she had caught the eyes of enough people. Before even taking four steps, Sookie was being swept into a flurry of dancing bodies. Pure glee emanated from the crowd, and of the few thoughts that Sookie could hear, none were focused on her.

There was no negativity, nothing aimed at her or her sexual endeavors. Nobody was judging her or paying the slightest bit of attention to where she had been or where she was. Sookie could be free. Just for a night. She could drink and dance her thoughts away, and forget anything that was even remotely upsetting. Around her, vampires and humans were all engaged in a beautifully wild dance. Primalistic in places, more sultry in others. Everybody had somebody. Not a single thought was spared on where she would go. Sookie completely forgot the couch.

She wanted to have fun, and that was exactly what she would do.

A hand clasped hers, and unintentionally, the blonde jumped in surprise. She swiveled around to find a girl dressed as a pirate grinning at her. She was a brunette, and her hair had been swept into an overly decorative bun. A black corset covered her torso, shaping the loose cream-colored shirt. An eye mask rested over the bridge of her nose and extended to the outer-edges of her eyes in fine lace points.

Despite her previous longing to let go, Sookie was on guard. She didn't know who the woman was or what she wanted. If there was one thing Sookie had learned, it was to be wary of strangers. Her mind reached for the stranger's, and all she could find was playful. Her inner voice held a certain sultry tone, low and relaxed. She thought Sookie was pretty.

Wanted to dance with her.

"You need a partner?" The woman raised her free hand to the side of her mouth in an attempt to concentrate her voice, aimed towards Sookie. The words of her mind edged on the woman's loudly spoken question, more specifically stating that she didn't want any funny business, and hoping that Sookie wouldn't turn out to be a secret lesbian. Unknowingly, the blonde had been staring at the woman with all too much intensity. When gray eyes shifted away from her, Sookie tightened her grasp on the hand.

"Sure!" Though Sookie leaned closer and shouted her response, she could barely hear herself over the sound of the music, which seemed to have been turned up. Either way, her answer had been understood and she found herself led back into the center of the hardwood floor, lost in a sea of beings and pulsing with the music that flowed through her ears.

Every tense moment in her life melted away, every thought of Bill, or Eric. Nothing seemed to exist anymore, aside from her body, which instinctively moved with every drop of the song. And of course, her dance partner, which hadn't even groped her once. It was amazing. She wasn't being felt up. Nobody was bothering her or asking her what she was. Nobody wanted to bite her. She could be perfectly at ease with whatever was in the air; a combination of sweat and a lust for life.

Pure desire to forget, and live in the moment.


	2. Fun and Games

**A/N: Hi all. Thank you for your** **feedback** **and** **follows.** **I** **especially** **want to thank _KorraEpic_ for pointing out that I had forgotten a disclaimer. lol, it's a bad habit. This chapter is a bit long, to finish the intro and get the story started (more started?). So, as usual, I hope you enjoy :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own true blood in any way shape or form.****  
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* * *

Alcohol was introduced to the picture, and Sookie found herself sticking to the girl that had asked her to dance.

Even Tara had run off to feed, but this girl had showed her how to have a good time again. Like she needed a lesson, and the woman had led her into a haze of colors and motions under the dim lighting. They had barely spoken, but taken no less than three shots in the past hour. The world was a blur, revolving around her new friend and Tara, of whom had apparently joined into the dancing; making each step and motion seem more provocative.

Sookie almost didn't realize when Tara approached her new friend, fangs out. She turned to the two, coming to a dead halt at the sight of the nameless girl stepping back, suddenly alarmed by the expression the vampire wore.

"What _are_ you..?"

Cautiously, the blonde placed a hand on Tara's shoulder in an attempt to dissuade her from anything rash. When Tara gazed at Sookie, a pleading raise of the blonde's brow lessened her predatory posture. Maybe she had been a bit forward. Enough so to make the pirate woman disappear while she was distracted.

"Tara!" Nearly scolding the Vampire, Sookie felt her brows knit together.

The vampire turned to her, clearly unaware of her fault.

"What?" As innocent as ever, in a tone that portrayed slight insult, Tara shrugged at the blonde. Seeing that her friend had no intention running the woman off, Sookie rolled her eyes, sighing to herself. "What? I didn't bite her! Girl shouldn't be so scared in the first place!"

Again, Sookie shook her head. She might have been abandoned by the pirate, but there were plenty of other people to dance with. And dance they did. Tara and Sookie quickly found others, men, women, vampires and humans. Feather boas were tangled around one another, binding strangers and friends alike, and the party continued without disturbance. At least, it seemed so.

It wasn't until a group of three wandered into the building, intent on joining the fun. Tara immediately smelled the fresh dirt on them, and came to a dead halt, mimicked by others. Vampires and whatever else had a sense of smell as sensitive as hers. One of the three was fresh from the ground, still covered in the blood that had been drained to turn him. The humans that had been dancing and enjoying their time followed the example of the others.

The group felt the many gazes that had settled on them and turned to stare back.

An uneasy air settled over the building, filled with music yet eerily still. It was the aroma of soil, that alarmed everybody. There was a new born among them; known for not being able to control themselves.

"The fuck y'all lookin' at? Aint nothin' to see here." Country boys, all three of them. Tank tops seemed to be a shared passion between the three, accompanied with dirty jeans and unkempt hair. One, clearly a maker, the bloody one, new. The third was shorter than the others, and sported a leather jacket and buzz cut.

At the unfriendly tone, the crowd remained silent. Observant as they turned away and seemed to return to their previous festivities. None needed to mention the unusual company, or the fact that a newborn was walking into the bar as if he could control himself. Slowly, but surely, the dancing returned. Drinking commenced, and life sparked among the so-called dead.

It wasn't until a wrist was bitten, that the thin thread of control amongst chaos snapped. In a blur, the previously noted newborn was across the room, fangs deep in a neck. A scream resonated through the bar and every person, dead and alive, started to move.

Vampires rushed to the sight of attack and Humans mostly retreated, save for a few brave souls. They remained still, arms crossed, positive that the scene would be solved in a matter of seconds at most. Sookie was one of the few, watching with wide eyes as the woman that had greeted them at the door was turned into an unwilling breakfast. Much to her dismay, the two older vampires that had entered with the newborn were dead set on fighting off any others that tried to interfere with the uncanny method of finding food.

The screaming persisted as the woman tried to escape his grasp, hands weakly smacking his shoulders and face. Around them, the room slowly slipped into panic. Most vampires had remained still, watching in silent dismay. Sitting back on their leather couches not bothering to lift a finger as the few that had attempted to correct the situation fought to get to the woman and her attacker. It wasn't until the woman stopped shouting, that they gave up, and every human in the building started to evacuate.

Sookie found herself being shoved around as everybody rushed to the entrance; voices raised. At some point, Tara had left her side. The other vampires started to walk through the crowd, blending in with the humans, and more shouts sounded. Everything was a blur. Liquid splattered Sookie's arm and the side of her face. She tried to continue towards the commotion; to help and find Tara.

The blonde pushed her way through the crowd, not caring about the people she shoved aside, or the toes she stepped on. She wasn't leaving without her friend, and she definitely wasn't afraid of a vampire. Before her eyes, the woman dropped to the floor, newborn nowhere to be found. An explosion of entrails was more than enough to reveal what had transpired too quickly to see. A man shouted in a combination of grief and horror. Much to Sookie's surprise, Tara seemed to be responsible for such, and was engaged in a glaring contest with one of the two remaining newcomers.

"The hell's your problem, bitch?!" The taller of the two, far more agitated than he had a right to be, spat the words at Tara. His face was stuck in a permanent O of surprise. He was the maker; visibly pained by the death of his newest progeny. Unfazed, Tara spoke in an equally frustrated tone.

"Me? It's stupid motha' fuckers like you that fuck everything up for the rest of us!" As quickly as possible, Sookie closed the short distance between herself and Tara and faced the men, ready to back her up if necessary.

"Who the fuck you think you talkin' to, girl? What're you gonna do, sick your human on me?" As the tank top wearing man stepped towards Sookie, Tara moved forward, barely between them.

Another shout echoed through the nearly empty bar, and a scent filled Tara's lungs. Her eyes glazed, fangs positioned themselves to bite, though there was nothing to focus on. The smell had the same effect on both vampires before her, only one charged to the source. Sookie's gaze was the last to settle on the source. A familiar woman dressed as a pirate and seated on the floor, appearing to have fallen.

Wide grey eyes met Sookie's, only for a fraction of a second before the woman was grasped by her hair and latched onto. She barely made a sound. Tara stepped forward, unsure of whether she could stop the attacker or if she would join him. She didn't know what smelled like that woman's blood, but desperately wanted to find out. It wasn't until the man beside her started to rush forward, that she was snapped back to her senses. Without thinking, Tara extended her arm shoving the man across the bar and halting his race to the prey.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sookie rushing towards the two on the ground. The man she had thrown smacked into a wall, and the boards splintered around him as he emerged under the moonlight. No time was needed for recovery, he quickly jumped to his feet, and as Tara started towards him, he darted into the night.

With a battle raging outside, the blonde dashed to the pair, and commenced to kicking the vampire in the head. Searing pain shot through her toes, mocking Sookie for her choice of attack. She didn't know what the woman was, and didn't want to destroy her with her light. But it seemed to be the only choice. With each passing second, the woman's smacks grew weaker against the vampire behind her. Sookie couldn't idly watch. She had considered the woman a friend, even if only for a moment.

Before the blonde could act, the vampire was torn away by his jacket, a bit too roughly for a human to withstand. The man's hand dug into his victim's stomach, enticing a short lived yelp of pain. Still, with no attention to limits, he was thrown across the room. His victim dropped to the ground, immediately aided by Sookie as Tara dashed towards the last remaining vamp of the trio. Everything happened in the blink of an eye, and before Sookie knew it, the only ones left in the room were her, Tara, and the unconscious brunette in her lap.

Tara slowly approached the blonde, cautious of her fangs and the enticing scent in the room.

"We have to help her!" Frantically gazing to her friend, Sookie felt her eyes begin to burn. The vampire simply watched from a meter's distance, not daring to step closer.

"Sook, I don't know if there's even a chance..."

The words weren't accepted. Sookie shook her head, pulling the limp form back into her lap as a sharp breath forced its way into her lungs. A hand was placed on her shoulder, soothing to a certain extent but far from enough to help.

"Come on Sook, we gotta get outta here. Before anybody else shows up."

"I'm not leaving her!" Again, large, tear-filled eyes were set on Tara, forcing her to tap into the humanity that Sookie was clinging to. With a tense sigh, Tara stepped back, motioning to the door.

"Alright, but I ain't carrying her."

In the span of a few seconds, three things happened. Sookie fumbled to pick the woman up, Tara's fangs jumped to attention again, and sirens could be heard. With no time to spare, Tara snatched the girl from Sookie's grasp and ushered the intoxicated blonde out of the bar. There was no way that she was staying there to be caught and accused of the problem she had solved.

It had been hard enough to get Sookie into the passenger seat, but driving around with the scent of blood was a new challenge. Tara had to become reaccustomed to driving, experimenting with the pressure of her foot. Every window in the car had to remain down for her to keep a level head, and the entire time, Sookie was clearly trying to fight off a panic attack. Or her gag reflex. Whichever one it was, Tara believed it to have been triggered by too much alcohol and the smell of blood.

If that hadn't been enough of a challenge, they had to get the aforementioned bleeding woman into Fangtasia, the closest place they could stop, and clear the building so to keep the woman from being attacked again.

Hence the current situation. The "woman in Victorian bloomers bleeding out on Eric's floor".

* * *

All the vampires had done was watch Sookie try to stop the bleeding. After Eric's fangs popped out, he retreated a few steps, wary of the scent. Sookie remained on the floor, glaring at him as she spoke.

"Give her your blood!"

The demand squinted his eyes, ridiculous in every sense. He stared at the blonde, nearly expressionless in the suffocating silence that had apparently filled the room. Two sets of eyes, could be felt, indirectly glued to his back.

"No."

Though the man spoke in an even tone, Sookie reacted as though he had screamed at her. Her jaw dropped, brow furrowed, as she allowed the pressure on the stranger's wound to fade.

"No? What the fuck do you mean, '_no'_? She's _gonna_ die!" More than anything, the blonde seemed surprised that he had refused. Despite her raised voice and hostility, Eric remained adamant. He walked across the room and leaned back against the bar, Tara and Pam still watching from behind him. It was almost impressive that he had made Sookie say a "bad" word.

"Of course she is. What makes you think that I would help a complete stranger, let alone, give one my blood?"

A frustrated groan escaped Sookie as she turned to peer at Tara and Pam, of whom immediately looked away. It was ridiculous to think that of all the vampires around her, none were willing to help. Even Tara had turned away, pretending to focus on cleaning glasses. Sookie pushed herself to her feet, oblivious to the rough drop of the woman's torso as she stood. A nearly invisible crease formed between Eric's brows as he watched the woman hit the hardwood.

"Really? None of you are going to help her?" Clenching her fist, the blonde swiveled around on her heel, still focused on the three uninvolved vampires. One hand waved towards the woman on the ground as she continued. "Even_ I _can smell her blood, she's _not_ human, and we can't just let her die!" There was no reason for Sookie to feel so determined about helping the stranger. She wasn't completely sure about her actions, herself. But she wanted the woman to survive, and that was reason enough. That and the alcohol, which was no doubt influencing her.

It would never be a normal night, for Sookie. She could never go out without somebody getting injured, whether it be herself, a friend or a stranger.

"Still, not my problem."

"How could you even say-" Mid-sentence, Sookie was interrupted by Eric pointing to the form on the floor. She turned to find the woman, eyes open and slowly shifting her position. A small groan sounded, followed by steel eyes searching the room for any sense of familiarity. The brunette sat upright, cringing as her destroyed bun gave up on holding hair.

"Thank god, are you alright?" Dropping back to the ground beside the woman, Sookie reached towards her, as if to grasp or comfort her. "Why would I even ask, of course you're not! You're _covered _in blood-" Cutting herself off, Sookie retracted said hand, shaking her head. Her concern was barely acknowledged as the woman rubbed her eyes with closed fists. She barely nodded, uncertain of her own answer.

She didn't wait for a cue or another question before she forced herself to her knees and eventually one foot.

"Don't move- don't get up, just stay there, you're going to hurt yourself!"

"No, no, I'm fine." Frozen in place, Sookie watched as the woman held the towel to her own stomach, still attempting to stand. A moment was needed to regain her speech, which was used at the earliest availability.

"Fine? You're _not_ fine, there's a hole in your stomach!" Sookie grasped the woman's arm, helping to straighten and secure her stance, the southern draw on her voice more prominent with surprise.

"That's... always like that, I'm fine." Shaking her head, the woman glanced around the room, taking note of the vampires. Six cold eyes, hungrily glued to her. The hand on her forearm released her, and Sookie turned back to Eric and his "children", mouth ajar.

"Still think she's human? You're really just going to let her leave like this? Every vamp in town'll be on her the moment she gets outside!" The blonde's statement earned nothing more than a straight-faced stare from Eric. She was right, and he knew it. If he let the woman leave in her condition, she would be consumed in a matter of seconds. It wasn't a maybe or an if, it was a when, or how far.

Sookie knew what she had seen. There had been loose skin around the woman's injury. She knew it was more serious than it was made out to be. Still, the woman was standing; picking at the tanned hide corset around her waist. Eric watched, just as silent as the others in the room as the woman examined herself for further damage assessment.

He leaned up, still eying the two ahead of him as the stranger rubbed her neck. A bite mark was uncovered as the thick veil of corkscrew hair was pushed over her shoulder. Without another word, Eric started away. That woman was fine, and he had quickly grown tired of being ordered to fix something he hadn't even had the pleasure to break. The notion of him being involved or obligated to assist in any way was ridiculous. Though he couldn't exactly say he expected better of Sookie, for her to bring a bleeding Human to a vampire bar was unthinkable.

"And if she gets attacked out there, it'll be blamed on you!" Sookie continued to prattle on about faults and morale, which was none of his concern. As far as anybody knew, it was just another human. Most vampires would at least take her to a more convenient location to feed in private. "She's here now and if she leaves like this, everyone'll think she got hurt here! Do you know what that'll do to your reputation?"

"If you want her healed so badly, give her your _own_ blood, fairy-girl, she ain't none of our business." Full pale lips raised in a challenging sneer as Sookie focused on the sandy-haired woman beside Tara. Pam crossed her arms as she weighed in on the matter, as dead-set as Eric to refuse aid. Her progeny, Tara turned to frown at her upon hearing the words, lips slightly parted. The clear disapproval received no acknowledgment. Despite her words, Eric paused at the mention of his reputation. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was cops or vampire authority, sticking their noses where they didn't belong.

His eyes squinted as the corner of his lips turned upward in an irked smirk. The viking started towards Sookie and her guest, smirk still on full display. The steel-eyed brunette visibly retreated, half of a step, as he approached.

"Tell me, Sookie. If this is your _friend_, you _must _know her name, _right_?"

Lowering her head, Sookie gawked at the floor beneath her feet. Why was he quizzing her, all of a sudden? Everybody was watching her, aside from the girl, and Sookie kept her eyes on the floor. This was one of those funny moments when mind reading was a blessing.

A moment passed, and Sookie raised her head, turning her full glare on Eric as she found her final answer

"Chevelle. We call her Chevy, 'cause her dad liked cars." Sookie shifted her gaze towards the gawking woman as she murmured the last bit, which seemed to tumble from her mouth at its own accord. "And men."

"_Hey_!"

Clear surprise took the Viking's features, shining through his bafflement as Sookie quickly gazed at the confused woman beside her. Behind Eric, Tara and Pam had dropped the illusion of tidying the bar. Eric had paused as well, processing the misspoken information as his eyes trailed to the possibly offended brunette.

"And _why _are we only hearing of her _now_?" Another question posed little threat, as Sookie had been eavesdropping on the woman's thoughts to better grasp any knowledge she needed. She was prepared for some things, fully equipped with the woman's age and address. Chevelle's racing thoughts and panic were nearly impossible to pick through, but Sookie was experienced enough to grasp what she needed.

"'Cause she's from Pennsylvania." With each word, Sookie could hear Chevelle's thoughts grow more unsettled; swirling in both their heads. Begrudgingly, Eric kept his eyes on Sookie's. As if he could intimidate her with his gaze. Despite her obvious victory, Chevelle couldn't remain silent.

"This is too much. I don't understand." All eyes jumped to the woman as she took another step back, so to keep each stranger in her line of sight. "You all seem... nice... But deciding whether I live, or... And you-" motioning towards Sookie, the woman frowned. "How do you _know_ any of that? Are you psychic?"

Eric's gaze slowly shifted back to Sookie, a single brow working its way into an accusatory arch. Meeting the man's gaze, Sookie nervously grinned and shifted her weight. That woman just had to fuck everything up. It had been going so well, too.

"Well, I'm leaving. Thanks for all the help." To everybody's surprise, the woman actually started to leave. Her uneasy gaze flicked over each person in the room. She turned on her heel and headed for the door, not paying a single thought on the fact that she was covered in blood and practically had a flashing "dinner" sign over her head.

Before her hand could touch the door, Eric blocked her off, his motions a blur. The sudden appearance startled the woman, even more so, the appearance of his fangs, towering over her. Chevelle flinched as he turned his head, covering his mouth in a gesture of politeness. That was starting to get annoying.

"Where do you think you're going?" As calmly as he could, Eric murmured the words, eying the woman as she focused on something across the room. Denied eye contact.

Afraid or not, she wasn't leaving his bar covered in blood. Sookie was right. People would catch wind of this; pirate stripper murdered outside of Fangtasia. Sucked dry for having "unusual" blood.

No, he wouldn't let that headline get out. There had been too many reports about his establishment, as fine as it was, and one more would be the cherry on top. The media would have a field day. People would poke him with wooden crosses and he'd be forced to scalp them; gaining more publicity.

That couldn't happen. Sookie had knowingly cursed him. From where he stood, across the bar, he could see the smug aura around her; victory in the form of a smirk.

God, he hated Fairies. More specifically, half breeds.


	3. Proposals

**A/N**: **Hi all! Thank you for all the follows and favorites. I hope you all enjoy this update, as well as the end of the start (took long enough, but mood has been set.) So, thank you again, and if you have a moment, I'd appreciate any feedback. **

* * *

"You're lucky this corset is so thick."

Chevelle glanced over her shoulder, catching Pam's azure gaze with a downward tilt of her chin. The woman was loosening the strings of the aforementioned corset, with her usual level of "Applying a second coat of nail varnish" enthusiasm. Half an hour's time was enough to get a hold of herself and focus on something other than eating the newest burden on her doorstep; courtesy of Sookie Stackhouse. She had wanted to be fully involved; responsible for helping, comforting, and whatever else was needed, to the point that it turned ineffective.

In a drunken haze, the blonde had been good for talking and harboring more emotion than her human mind could contain. So Pam left her with Tara. She'd be better when the alcohol wore off. While they were busy talking and reliving whatever psychological bond they'd once had, Pam took the tacky pirate to a back room to assess her injuries.

As far as she could tell, there was indeed a large wound on the woman's stomach, but it was mostly a surface scratch. The thick hide of her corset endured most of the damage, hence, the skin that Sookie had believed to belong to the woman. In reality, she was gathering sheep's skin, soaked in human blood.

Charming.

They were positioned in front of a tall mirror, lined in cherry wood. Surrounded by warm colors, in the intimate space of the back room. Despite the close quarters, the girl had barely spoken a word. The lack of conversation was far from uncomfortable, Pam had found her presence to be rather unobtrusive. For a Human-type, at least. The vampire was biting her cheek for the most part, so to keep her fangs under wraps. "Don't eat her", had been Eric's command, and though he had no power over her anymore, she couldn't stand the idea of defying him.

Eric had stayed behind, no doubt talking to Sookie while Pam was stuck with examining and assisting the brunette.

Fun times.

"What are you, a conservative? I'm unlacing your corset, not your panties." The dry tone in Pam's voice received yet another awkward chuckle and shift of Chevelle's weight. "You can stop staring at your toes and unzip your side already."

"Sorry." No further instruction was needed for the brunette to grasp the upper edge of her corset and tug the zipper downward. With another curious glance, the vampire watched the woman's reflection. Modesty was something that no decent club-worker should concern themselves with. Nevertheless, with each passing minute, each tick of the grandfather clock behind them, Pam's skepticism grew.

"And you can stop apologizing. It's annoying."

"Sorry," The woman echoed before raising her eyes to meet Pam's in the mirror. "Sorry!"

Rolling her eyes, Pam pulled the corset from around the woman and tossed it onto Eric's desk.

"Hopeless."

Chevelle turned to face her, beginning to speak. As slowly as possible, Pam covered her mouth. The vampire stepped closer, staring into the confused gray eyes of her guest. Deadpan, she stared the woman down, aware of her uneasiness.

"If you apologize one more time, I swear I'll rip that pretty little tongue of yours out and force you to eat it... Got it?"

Chevelle nodded, closing her mouth behind Pam's hand as it was pulled away. A slight smile curled Pam's lips as she focused on the crimson hole over the brunette's stomach.

"Now, take it off."

* * *

"I don't know what you're expecting, dragging me back here." In the freezer, Eric and Sookie stood across from one another. Sookie crossed her arms, smiling up at the Viking as she considered her approach.

"Just... To be alone." She shrugged as she spoke, as innocent as possible. Unaffected by the intentionally cute expression, Eric didn't crack a smile.

"Blonde isn't exactly my cup of tea anymore."

His statement cleared every ounce of suggestive-intent from Sookie's face. She crossed her arms, glaring up at the unwelcomed smirk the man had donned. He was trying to ruffle her feathers and she knew it, but she wasn't going to let him win that easily. Sookie had a trick up her sleeve, and if she had to pull it, she would.

"Well, dead isn't exactly mine." Despite the clear jab at him, Eric kept his amusement in plain view. Sookie's hands started to rub at her arms and goosebumps raised over her flesh. Alcohol didn't stave off all cold, apparently.

Drawing a sharp breath of humor through his nose, Eric turned towards a metal shelf behind him; eying the cases of TruBlood as if they were interesting.

"So? What do you want?" He placed his palm on the wire frame of a shelf, still staring at the wooden boxes.

"Well..." Sookie stepped forward, as carefully as possible. She released herself from her own arms, and placed a finger on the frozen metal shelf beside her. "Chevy worked at that bar."

"And?" Pressing the blonde to continue, Eric remained still.

"Tara said she was on one of the stages when we came in. And since she got attacked there-"

Before Sookie could finish, Eric stood straight up, his interest long gone.

"Absolutely not. "

"Why?" Frowning, Sookie met the Viking's eyes, fully expecting an explanation. Much to her surprise, the man just repeated himself, saying "No" as he passed. He was almost to the door when Sookie swiveled around on her heel. "Give me one good reason!" Her voice barely had an effect on the man.

He pulled the door to the cooler open, ready to leave, but Sookie wouldn't lose so easily.

"Do you remember Talbot?"

At the mention of the name, Eric froze. It took everything in Sookie's being to suppress the grin that threatened to lift the corners of her mouth. Ever so slowly, the door in front of Eric closed.

"Excuse me?" He didn't turn to face Sookie. She had almost thought it was safe to smile to herself, but the laugh bubbling in her throat discouraged that act. If she smiled, she would laugh, and then she was as good as vamp fodder. Liquid courage aided her as she moved towards the man, ever-so-lightly placing a hand on his back.

"Oh, y'know, that pile of slime in a glass jar? Funny thing happened a while back; Russell Edgington, _you know Russell_, right?"

Slowly peering over his shoulder at the Blonde, Eric caught sight of the devious squint of her eyes.

* * *

As Tara put away every freshly washed glass in Fangtasia, a high-pitched shriek emanated from the back room. She turned towards Eric's office, debating whether to follow the sound and investigate or pretend she hadn't heard anything. It was possible that Pam had gotten tired of the woman she was with. Tara's maker hadn't been too keen on the idea of helping the brunette.

Still, something in Tara urged her forward. She wanted a share of the fresh meal.

Behind her, the freezer door burst open. Eric appeared at her side, followed by a panicked Sookie.

"You don't think..?"

Tara glanced back at her friend, unsure of which answer would be best.

* * *

Pam had been waiting forever for the brunette to lose her clothes. She wanted to get everything over with and return to her bar. There was still time to reopen the doors.

"I don't mean to be so nervous. It's just that I'm surrounded by strangers and can't leave. I don't even know your names, and here I am... Half naked and being poked at."

Raising a brow, Pam peered up at Chevelle.

"Plus, I don't think I like you." The line brought that fuzzy feeling to Pam's heart. The kind that one gets when they hold up the hair of an intoxicated teenager, while prying shoes off her feet and telling her that her father is going to hear them. The brunette had gone all out on her costume, depriving herself of basic, proper undergarments for a full effect. As a result, she had opted to hold two sheets over her "goods", as opposed to bloody rags. For decency's sake.

"Well, we don't always get to decide when our clothes come off, am I right?" Again, the woman was increasingly dry in humor. Much to her surprise, the olive-skinned woman in front of her released a low giggle. The reaction received a smile, just shy of kindness but welcoming, nonetheless.

"The name's Pam. I'll be your nurse for the next five minutes. Any longer and I'll have to _charge _you."

"I feel like you should be charging me now." Tying her hair up, Chevelle glanced at her reflection over her shoulder. Clothes laid, pooled at her feet, a sign of her undress. Despite the less than comfortable circumstances, Pam had managed to ease her nerves with a bit of good, old fashioned glamour.

The magazine, of course.

They had talked about brandnames for the past half hour, and the sandy-haired vampire found herself in a remotely good mood.

"Yeah, but the first time's always free." Again, her sarcasm received a short snort of amusement. Pam stood in front of the brunette, glancing over her wound as she did.

"So? Be gentle with me, Doc, how long do I have?"

A small smirk grew into full-blown amusement, exposing white teeth beneath red lips. Pam turned away from Chevelle, positive that her work of applying disinfectant and bandages was over.

"About fifty years, give or take." Pam shook her head, waving at the woman over her shoulder. "You stay there. I'll get you something to cover up with."

Calling her thanks behind the woman, Chevelle turned to study her own reflection, more specifically, Pam's handy work. The woman had told her it was only a surface scratch, hitting a good amount of veins, but not enough to kill her. It explained Chevelle's lethargy, as well as the light sway of the world. Nothing too bad, but noticeable. And that was when she saw it.

A pale face, hovering over her shoulder near the entrance to the room. Without even thinking, she screamed, turning to face her attacker. Her grasp on the sheets around her tightened, and the door to the room shot open in record time; the frame of an excessively tall Viking perched on the other side.

Such timing also stood for "the amount of time it took for the brunette to realize that the ghastly face over her shoulder was a mask, hanging on a coat rack". Eric's sudden appearance was met a sudden cover of the brunette's stomach and wide eyes.

Was that what they did when somebody screamed? Exploded into doorways and stared at the screamer?

In the doorway, Sookie appeared at Eric's side, maneuvering around him and into the room.

"What is it? Are you okay? Where's Pam?"

"Right here, Blondie." The sandy haired woman worked her way past the three lined up in the doorway and walked to Chevelle's side, clothes in hand. The square of cloth was slammed into Chevelle's stomach and met with a slight cringe as she fumbled to grab it without exposing herself. Facing the three, still in the doorway, Pam turned the situation over in her mind. She loved a laugh at the expense of another.

"What's wrong? Thought I got an appetite?" Clearly entertained, Pam snarked the words. The tense expressions she received from Eric and Sookie almost made her laugh. Almost.

"Everything's fine," the woman drawled, "I just gave her a scare. It's good for concussions." Motioning to the mask, Pam felt the edge of her mouth tug upwards. Apparently, she'd given everybody a scare. But what was life, or death, without a thrill? "Now, _get out_. She's a _shy_ stripper, that doesn't know when the mirror _behind_ her is showing the _goods_." Glancing to the side, Pam couldn't help but release a long sigh, bordering reminiscence as Chevelle scrambled to cover her backside. The woman moved towards their audience, hands extended to usher the crowd out.

"No boys, fairies, or babies allowed."

As Sookie was being pushed out of the door, she managed to slip a question in.

"Wait, wait, how's she doin'? Is she gonna be okay?"

With one hand on the half-closed door, and the other on the leather of her hip, Pam stared at the three in front of her.

"Well, between a shaper corset, an outer corset and five full layers of clothes, minus the petticoats, she'll be fine. I haven't seen that many layers since the eighteen-nineties." Deep blue eyes flicked over the three, and Pam figured she had given enough information. "Anyway, we're gonna paint each other's nails and talk about boys." With a roll of her eyes, Pam closed the door, punctuating the prohibited entry with the click of a lock.

It had taken the better half of half an hour for the two to return to the bar area. All greetings were skipped, aside from Pam turning to Chevelle. It wasn't often that a human fully appreciated her degree of not giving fucks and sarcasm. By the time they finished, Sookie and Tara had taken seats beside one another at the bar. Eric, on the other hand, was seated in his "throne", silently brooding over an unknown topic.

"You said you would never forgive me!" Sookie exclaimed, disbelief heavy on her tongue.

"Yeah, well," Tara turned to the side, starting to stand as she heard her maker approach. "Never said I did." As the woman turned towards Pam and their guest, Sookie gawked up at her, slack-jawed. Pam halted a few meters away, her expression unreadable as she motioned to the girls.

"Tara, Sookie," Waving her hand towards the man across the room, Pam gazed at Chevelle. "Eric. Got it?" Nodding, Chevelle studied the two girls. They, in turn, did the same. Pam had loaned her a slip, nothing too thin or thick. Just enough to maintain decency without being self conscious. A pair of eyes bore into her side, but she didn't dare to look at the man across the room.

He didn't seem happy.

"Good." Job finally complete, Pam crossed her arms. Sookie was the next to speak, not hesitant to question her new patient or friend. Whatever Chevelle was to her.

"So, Chevy, where to you live? We should get you home so you can rest up." Before she could even open her mouth, Sookie was reacting. "That's horrible! Seriously?"

"I-" Frowning, Chevelle tilted her head. "I didn't say anything..." All eyes were on Sookie as she sank back into her seat, silently breathing the word "oh", as if she hadn't realized. Still, Chevelle answered, though she suspected that the woman already knew. That Sookie was actually a psychic. "I was staying with Katrine-" A slight accent pulled at her speech, but Sookie couldn't put her thumb on it.

"The woman from the door," The blonde clarified, and Chevelle nodded, eying the woman.

"Yeah, she had the keys. But with everything that happened tonight... Well, she didn't look very lively when she hit the floor." Crossing her arm, the brunette shrugged. A low sigh escaped her as she contemplated the previous events, only to turn to Tara. A large smile spread across her lips as she spoke.

"That was amazing! Thanks for all the help. Both of you." Her eyes trailed to Sookie, and the blonde mirrored her grin, shrugging it off as if they hadn't done a thing. Beside her, Tara's expression was far more tense.

"I still wanna eat you." She stated, still eying the woman as she had before. Tara was holding her breath, so not to be triggered. Of course, breathing was a habit, not a necessity, but not doing so was still difficult to maintain. The clear threat received a slight scoff. One that bordered flattery or amusement.

"You should," Chevelle shrugged, nodding as if to say that she accepted the fact that she still looked like a meal to the Vampire. "I work at the blood bar, I'm supposed to smell good." Another short snicker sounded, and Tara glanced to the side, finally understanding the woman's scent. She didn't know what the woman was doing to smell so appealing, but it was working. Too well.

Pam hummed a note under her breath, as if noting the statement aloud as she shook her head.  
"So that's what the competition is doing. Bunch'a fuckin' entrepreneurs, huh?" The woman rolled her eyes, clearly displeased. Again, Sookie spoke up, her focus on not stealing information from the newcomer's mind.

"Well, that was dangerous tonight. You could'a been killed. Ever thought about working somewhere else? You dance, right?" Chevelle nodded, but before she could answer the first question, Sookie continued. "Do you need a place to stay? I have an extra room at my house, you could rest up for tonight, if you need."

It was apparent that the suggestion excited Sookie. That the thought of having a guest sounded like a sleepover, and fun. If she had been asked, she may have tried to deny it but in truth, the house was lonely without Jason around. She loved the idea of having a regular person come over, especially when everybody seemed to be vampires or creatures straight out of fairy tales that shouldn't exist. Herself included, of course. Only half-way.

"Really? I'd really appreciate that, I can pay you-"

"No," Quickly interrupting the woman, Sookie waved her hand as if clearing the suggestion of pay away. "No, don't worry about it!"

From her spot behind the bar, Pam rolled her eyes. Great, great, everybody was happy. So was she. She was ready to be finished; since when was it her job to help humans? Humans were meant to be hunted. They were food and nothing more; served no other purpose. Aside from that woman's appreciation of insults and sarcasm, she was the same as the rest of them. Thoroughly disinterested, the woman finished the task of straightening the TruBlood in the refrigerator and the liquor on the shelves. Sookie was busy talking to the brunette and Tara sat back down, lightly thanking Pam for the fresh glass of TruBlood that was placed on a coaster beside her.

Without a word, Pam started back towards the office. If the bar was closed, she had time to do other things. Like shop for shoes online; it was so convenient. The shoes would come to her, not the other way around. And she didn't have to find a place to stash the bodies of sale's associates that attempted to push frumpy prints or ugly shoes on her.

She was a Vampire, not a grandma.

Sookie cleared her throat, obviously hinting at something. It drew suspicious eyes to her, belonging to Tara and Pam, yet nothing more. If there was one thing that drunk Sookie wasn't, it was subtle. But, at a time like this, who was she kidding? She wanted Eric to get along with it. Her "suggestion" was the only thing that made sense.

"So, what're you gonna do about work? I mean, it could be a once kinda thing, but do you wanna risk it?"

Chevelle took a step back, glancing around herself as she placed a hand over her stomach. The rough texture of gauze had been softened under the slip Pam had provided.

"Uh, I've been working there since it opened, I couldn't-" Before the woman could finish, Eric seemed to catch Sookie's more than obvious drift. With a pulse of air, he was beside Chevelle, an irritated smirk plastered on his face. The brunette quickly grasped her heart, a look of shock taking her features. Eric started to speak, only to be interrupted by a harsh, unexpected outburst.

"_Ach mein Gott_\- don't do that!"

Dumbfounded faces met the brunette as she looked around, clearly unsettled. Eric, on the other hand, simply raised a brow. He had to pause, to process what he had heard and figure his response. German. It wasn't so bad, but he was possibly out of practice. So he chose to respond to her in kind; asking if she was interested in a position at his club. Tara and Sookie stared at the pair as if they had no idea what was going on.

It had taken a minute for the brunette to realize that he had not chosen English as the language for their interaction. Regardless, she shook her head and widened the distance between them again. He wasn't sure if she was frightened or just uncomfortable.

"I'll have you know, we have a strict 'no biting' policy here." When the language had shifted back to something more crowd-friendly, it became apparent to Sookie, what was being asked. Either way, her response was that "it happened occasionally". That she "couldn't abandon the bar, because it was like a family" to her.

Not that he cared.

He didn't feel like going through the motions of hiring somebody and keeping his customers in line.

Aside from cryptic foreign thoughts there was one thing Sookie caught on to. It stirred amusement inside of her and she half-laughed, half-choked the fragment as it jumped from her mind.

"Sex and candy? _Really?_" Cutting into the conversation, Sookie barely suppressed a grin. Chevelle's nose wrinkled, eyes squint as she turned to look at the blonde. Eric glanced towards Sookie, smothering a well-formed smirk with equally visible entertainment

"Now ya'll just playin'. I can't even tell what's happenin'." Exasperation had crept over Tara as she watched the situation unfold. From not being able to eat the bitch to not understanding what everyone was talking about and being excluded from whatever Sookie was hearing, she'd had enough. It was boring, and she had better things to do. So she walked away. Possibly to find Pam, or a human to feed on. TruBlood just wasn't cutting it.

In the end, Chevelle turned to the exit, muttering under her breath. Defeat was immediately accepted. Eric had no reason to push further.

It wasn't until a drunken Sookie turned to him, her face scrunched in confusion.

"Wha'did all that mean?"

Snickering, Eric stared at the woman's back as she pulled the door open. Eye contact was made one last time before it closed behind her, but not after a quick "thanks for the help".

"She said 'no'." In less than a second, Sookie was leaving after the girl; convinced that she could persuade her to stay at her place and leaving Eric alone, hands clasped behind his back.


	4. Sharing Home

**A/N: Hi all :) thank you for all of your reviews, and waiting patiently for this update. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Morning light poured through the windows of the Stackhouse residence, washing over two sleeping forms nestled opposite of one another. Sookie had stretched out on the couch after a certain brunette dosed off in an armchair. Complete stillness had settled over the building through the transition from night to day, and even as the birds started their songs outside, neither woman stirred.

The night had been spent chatting and giggling over random nothings with no mention of the Vampires they had visited. Chevelle had proposed a game, challenging Sookie to read her mind as she had before, and the blonde agreed, just happy to have convinced her into the car. Sookie had done well, impressing Chevelle with her answers, up until the woman's thoughts shifted to foreign jabbering, which proved indecipherable. Just like that, Sookie was locked out of the woman's mind, and though she preferred it that way, it was almost surprising.

The moment Chevelle caught on, she took advantage of the new knowledge, leaving Sookie to announce her underhanded ways; that she was using a language barrier against her. But it was acceptable. Granted, Sookie had stolen personal information from her, and though the blonde didn't like being shut out, she could understand.

She wouldn't want anybody to read her mind without her permission either.

Footsteps through the house went unnoticed. The front door closed, and Sookie turned over in the couch, eyes still closed. The sound of metal jingled though the house as the steps approached.

"Hey, Sook, you home?!"

At the sound of her name, Sookie opened her eyes. She sat up, rubbing the sleep and grogginess away with one hand as her visitor came into view.

"Jason... Hey." It took a moment for the woman to grow accustomed to the bright room, and she tiredly looked around as Jason approached; in full uniform. "What are you doin' here?"

False offense flashed across the man's face as he stopped beside the couch. "What am I doin' here? You act like I gotta have a reason to visit my own sister, whaddaya mean what am I doin' here?" The man's eyed flicked upward as he realized their company. Chevelle stirred at the sound of a conversation, her grasp on the pillow over her stomach tightened as she leaned to the opposite side of the armchair.

Still staring at the woman, Jason pointed a single finger at her. "Who's that?"

Sookie slowly turned her head towards her guest, her eyes feathered with drowsiness.

"Oh that?" Scattered thoughts needed to be collected, and Sookie felt a hangover approaching. It seemed she had broken a bottle out in the middle of the night to continue their fun. Definitely worth it, but she could literally feel dehydration clawing at her throat. "That's Chevy."

It was less information than Jason expected. He continued to study the long olive legs that poked from under the pillow in the woman's lap.

"Huh. Chevy. Right."

"Anyway, you _do_ need a reason. What do you want?" Throwing her legs over the side of the couch, Sookie corrected the drooping sleeve of her nightshirt and released a long sigh. She needed a glass of water.

"Oh, right. Hey, Sook," Jason stepped around the couch and stopped in front of his sister, kneeling down as he started. The blonde fixed her gaze on him, wondering if she looked as badly as she felt. "So, me and the guys are gonna go shooting tonight."

"Mhmm." Urging him to get to the point, Sookie started to stand, followed by her brother.

"And a while back, when I first got hired, I told Andy I had a rifle, right? It's a real cool one, shoots twenty-two bullets, don't got much of a kick or anything." The man seemed to be pouring trivial details into her brain, which could barely grasp the strands of what happened after returning to her house that night. As Sookie started towards the kitchen, Jason moved with her, still talking.

"Anyway, I just need to borrow 'bout a hundred and fifty dollars till next week,"

Stopping dead in her tracks, Sookie turned to face her brother, jaw unhinged.

"A hundred and fifty dollars? What? Why?"

As serious as could be, Jason pushed further.

"Cause I gotta get the gun. Andy wants to shoot it, and I don't-"

"So you lied to him, and now you want me to bail you out?" Sookie crossed her arms, grumpily eying the blonde man as a frown creased his brow.

"It wasn't a _lie_, I planned on getting it. Just... Money's been tight and he just assumed I had it after we talked and-"

"Oh please." Rolling her eyes, Sookie continued her walk towards the hallway, only to be followed by Jason. He lightly grabbed her arms, still trying to convince her.

"Wait, wait, Sook, don't leave me hangin'! I swear I'll pay you back! Pinky swear! Look, the only reason I didn't tell him was 'cause I knew I had the _best _sister in the world!" The look Sookie gave Jason was laced with skepticism and doubt. "And that she'd _never _let me look bad in front of my _boss_, right?" Even as his pitch raised and Sookie came to a stop, she shook her head.

"No way! I got things I need too, Jason! You can't go lyin' to people and not expect it to bite you in the butt!" Despite her refusal, Jason continued, talking over her.

It hadn't occurred to the siblings that their discussion had grown loud enough to wake their guest. Her voice startled Jason and he swiveled around to face her. Sookie on the other hand, saw as she sat up, looking around as she moved the pillow from her lap. The woman had borrowed a baggy shirt from Sookie; a slip wasn't the best choice for sleeping after all. She greeted them with a simple "morning", returned with ample amount of cheer and a smile, paired with an awkward shift of Jason's weight.

As Chevelle stood, she ran her hands over her hair, in full disarray from the hours of sleep.

"Hey, Sook, where's the bathroom?" Pointing down the hallway behind herself, the blonde curved her finger, motioning for a turn.

"It's on the right, you can't miss it."

The directions received a nod, and the woman approached the pair, murmuring a groggy "hi" to Jason as she passed. He raised his hand in a wave, repeating the word as he stepped aside. Seeing that the brunette hadn't seen his wave, the man quickly put his hand back down. She slipped by followed by two sets of eyes. As soon as she was out of earshot and the bathroom door closed, Jason turned to his sister, motioning after her. He leaned towards Sookie, voice barely over a whisper as he spoke.

"Is that gonna be an everyday thing or is it temporary?"

Rolling her eyes, Sookie turned and started towards the kitchen.

"I'm not buyin' you a gun, Jason." Hot on her heels, the man remembered his cause. He picked his argument up as if it had never been dropped.

"Wait, Wait Sook! I _knew _my sister had my back, 'cause she's so kind an' caring and always helpin' people out in a pinch!"

Even as Sookie entered the kitchen, retrieved a glass and filled it with water the man continued. She turned to face him, and leaned back against the sink, drinking her water as he lavished her in convenient compliments. Reminded her of all her good points and how much he needed her help. Sighing, Sookie shifted her gaze. Her arms remained crossed as he waited for her final answer; puppy eyes and full pout in effect. The man stood perfectly still, clinging to any strands of sympathy he could. Finally, with another low heave, Sookie rolled her eyes.

"_Fiiiine_." She drew the word out as Jason pumped his fist in the air and drew it downward, cheering to himself in victory. Just as the man turned around in his celebratory dance, he found a form standing behind him.

"Hey, you want some breakfast?" Sookie tilted her head as she asked, already aware of Chevelle's appearance. The brunette declined as Jason's dance came to an abrupt end, concluded with him placing a hand on his duty belt and clearing his throat. An odd glance was spared as Sookie turned to the refrigerator, burying herself in the options of food. Anything to silence the approaching headache. Behind her, there was an equal amount of quiet.

By the time Sookie found a pack of bacon and oven ready biscuits, the nothingness was broken.

"So, uh, you're..."

"Chevy." The woman stated, leaning onto the counter. A box of orange juice was taken from the fridge and Sookie turned around, holding it up for the woman to see.

"You want something to drink?"

"Please," Nodding, Chevelle reached past Jason to grab the carton. Sookie waved towards a cabinet, telling her where to find cups, as she grabbed a few eggs.

"I'm Jason, Sookie's brother. _Big _brother." Emphasis was added to the word "big" with a flex of the man's biceps, clearly noted by the frowns cast upon the man. "It's good to work out, ya' know. I think it's one of the best things you can do. You work out, Chev? Cause-"

"Jason, you hungry?" As if she had sensed the massive amount of awkwardness that was about to crush the room, Sookie cut her brother off. She knew him far too well, than to let him finish that sentence.

The man turned to his sister, visibly pleased at the offer and intervention.  
"Yeah, Sook, that'd be great. I haven't had lunch yet."

* * *

A short while later, the three had settled at the table in the kitchen. Jason and Sookie helped themselves to the meal, while Chevelle clung to her glass of orange juice. As the siblings murmured about police work, Sookie felt herself slowly recovering from her night. Not entirely, of course. Only time could relieve her of the pressure in her skull. Nevertheless, it was better than what she had started with.

"So I pull up outside the house, right, and they got this big argument goin on inside. I could hear 'em from the car. So I draw my taser, cause I know, that guy's gonna run at me the second I get to that door real good." Pausing to take a bite of his eggs, Jason looked at the women watching. Sookie bit off the end of a strip of bacon, the smile from her last laugh still on display. "So I already got Andy comin' to back me up, and he's trying to run code and get there, but as soon as he gets in the car, this little old lady with a brown bag and a walker comes up to him and says 'son, I can't get this beer open', so just like that, I'm on my own till he takes care of her."

A fit of giggles erupted across his audience, and Jason couldn't help but grin to himself. He was really killin' it right now. Had both the girls focused on him and having a good time.

"I get to the door and right before I knock it flies open and this lady with nothing but a baby pig an' a pair of stockin's comes runnin' out, screamin' somethin' bout a egg beater." Again, both women fell into a wave of laughter, shaking their heads in disbelief. "And the guy ain't no better; he's holdin' the damn egg beater sayin' she ain't allowed to use the car again." Just as Jason was about to get to the good part, his phone went off. He reached into his duty belt and unhooked it, glancing at the screen as the room started to quiet.

"Just an alarm, I got court today. Anyway, Andy comes rollin' up like a bat outta hell, jumps outta the car and tasers the lady, no questions asked! Didn't even know what was goin' on, just thought she was gonna do somethin' crazy." The story continued, filling the room with cheer and lightening the cloud of discomfort that had threatened to impede upon his arrival. In sharp contrast of that, Sookie's head was killing her. She had laughed herself back into that headache and it came with more force than before.

She knew that she had to say what she was thinking before she forgot and crawled into her bed, well over-due. It was convenient for Jason to stop by, though she hadn't realized it before, and now, it was time to take advantage of that fact. if there was one thing that he loved, it was showing off to pretty ladies, and Sookie had an idea that would allow him to do so without being overbearing. The blonde had rested her head in her palm as if it would fight the pounding of her head away, though it did little to help.

"Hey Jason,"

Stopped in the middle of his story, the man hummed back to her and she continued. "You help people get into locked houses all the time, right?"

A moment was spent, chewing a mouth full of bacon before it was washed down with juice.

"Well, not really, 'cause people like to fuss about it. I can call a locksmith, though."

"Chevy can't get into her house, 'cause her roommate had the key. Think you can bust the lock?"

It was the start of a mildly uneventful week, aside from work. After court, Jason made time to revisit the girls and take Chevelle to her old residence; a rundown shack of a house. Once he heard about the owner, he figured the door wouldn't be an issue. If the lady was dead, there wasn't a chance of having a complaint filed against him. Aside from that, the place was already unsightly; one door wouldn't make it any worse. With Sookie's insistence and two bags filled with clothes and shoes, Chevelle was temporarily lodging in the Stackhouse residence.

Working by night, and spending late mornings chatting with Sookie or sleeping after a rough shift. It was, essentially, the same as before. Sans after parties and the loss of self-respect that seemed to follow. A good thing, of course, coupled with a good friend.

* * *

"Where the fuck are all my customers?" Irritation saturated Pam's voice as she strided to the entrance of Fangtasia, Eric at her side. She pushed the door open; motioning to what was usually a disorderly assembly of Humans, dying to get inside. Flinging her arm towards the empty sidewalk, she turned to gawk up at Eric, still in disbelief. "No line! There's nobody out here! Everybody is inside, and the building isn't even full!"

The man hummed a low note of acknowledgment as he studied the unusually deserted street. There had to be a reason. Four days in a row, business was unsteady. One night would be packed, the next empty and barren. Something was fucking up their business, and Eric was not fond of Pam's suggestion, "competition". After digging her heels into the floor for the umpteenth time, the woman reminded him of the "blood bar" idea. While it wasn't horrible, he would need willing Humans, and a permit.

Something paperwork related. There would be a waiting list, if it was a thing that could be accomplished, legally speaking.

A full twenty-four hours had passed, and things seemed to return to normal. Fangtasia was open and buzzing with activity. Eric was back to watching the festivities unfold as countless women offered themselves to him. Tara was serving drinks, alongside Pam, and all was right in the world, save for a few fang bangers in the bathroom stalls. It was amazing and boring, all at the same time. Eric's accomplishment flourished before his eyes, every night since Pam told him of her dream.

It wasn't until a certain unreasonable Compton came, waltzing to his "throne", that Eric got the feel that his problems weren't over yet.

"We need to talk." He acted as though he had true purpose. A right, to approach Eric with no regard for formalities or respect. To demand his attention was almost unheard of, if it had been anybody else, that is.

"Do we?" Tilting his chin downward, Eric mocked concern. Even as he poked fun at the dark haired man before him, a woman saw it fit to interrupt, nudging her way past Bill and murmuring his name. The only acknowledgment spared was a flick of his gaze. Bill lightly pushed the woman from his side, more frustrated than when he'd entered the establishment. As the woman broke away, she moved towards Eric, determined to be his meal. A slim raven-haired woman, offered her wrist while she leaned onto his chair. She was obviously intoxicated, lewdly eying him and approaching without consent.

Even so, Eric looked upon her fondly. He welcomed lunch more than an annoyance any day. Just as he took hold of a dainty wrist, Bill hissed at him.

"It's about Sookie!"

Glancing towards the man out of the corners of his eyes, Eric sighed.

Well, if he insisted.

Walking into his office, Eric flipped the light on, already sensing where the conversation was about to go. He had barely made it to his desk as the door closed behind the men, and Bill continued.

"She is going to that new bar again tonight."

Slowly taking his seat, Eric leaned back into his chair. He wasn't going to be blamed for this. It wasn't his problem. It had nothing to do with him, and he didn't care in the slightest. There was no way that Bill was going to convince him of whatever he had in mind.

"This is the third night in a row."

If looks could kill, Eric would be slightly maimed. The Viking slowly placed his feet onto his desk, intently watching as Bill retreated to pace a meter of carpet.

"I'm no relationship expert, but isn't this something you should be talking to Sookie about?"

Immediately annoyed, Bill stepped back to the desk, glaring at the smug air around Eric. Eye contact was maintained, as if sizing up an opponent, neither willing to be the first to look away.

"Sookie is saying that she needs to be there. Because it is dangerous. This would not be a problem if you had hired her friend."

"She didn't want the position." Blankly peering at the man, Eric watched as Bill finally broke the staring contest. The raven-haired man shook his head, clearly displeased at the new information.

"I would bet that you barely tried." Bill drawled the words as Eric's gaze shifted to the side. It still wasn't his problem. Why was everybody coming to him about something like this? Weren't there better places to go and other people to irk?

His moment of contemplation was interrupted by Bill bending down to lift a rectangle of fabric with a single finger. Eric's attention settled on the cloth, a waspie corset stained in blood.

"You could at least _try _to clean up when you're finished." The mutter narrowed Eric's eyes, but he didn't care to explain. It was the wrong image, but it would be a lie for him to claim that he hadn't ever done anything in his office. And if Bill thought his fangs had created a fist sized hole, he was an idiot.

Leaning up, Eric snagged the fabric from the man's hand. Irritated, Bill leaned onto the desk and crossed his arms as the Viking disposed of his find.

"You have been having issues with business lately?" Bill glanced back at the blond, as he resituated himself in his seat. That was nothing that Eric would admit to. Despite his silence, Bill seemed to read the cue correctly. He turned around, and in his eye, Eric saw a rare spark. Something that even he, could appreciate.

* * *

**A/N: So what do you think Bill and Eric are going to do? It's always fun to guess :) read and review please. **


	5. Glamorous

**A/N: Hi all! As always, thank you for all of your reviews, and for waiting for this update. Enjoy the chapter. :)  
**

* * *

The night was young, illuminated by a yellow crescent. Dark clouds raced overhead; tendrils of smoke that occasionally blotted out the moon. On the way to "temptations", Bill and Eric had discussed the details of their agreement. The Viking had given Bill an opportunity to explain to him, why a new employee was in his interest. Words could not describe the amount of entertainment that Eric had gained from watching Bill fumble for the right words. It had progressed to the point that the raven-haired vampire had latched his mouth. Then he had it.

"All of your customers have been coming here since it opened." Bill stared at the club from where they had stopped; just across the street. "Because they want a meal while they dance. They don't want to pay for your overpriced Tru Blood when the same price can get them a Human."

The narrowed blue eyes that had set on the side of Bill's head had no visible effect.

"Chevelle is close with the owner, and even helped open the place. If you employ her, she could tell you how to set up a blood bar to compete, and how to make the flavors."

"Flavors? Like AB negative?" Eric's gaze had wandered in contemplation. If it was true, he could have that bar set up. Pam would stop bitching, and appreciate his effort. Things would, more or less, return to normal.

"No, like orange, iron, and candy. Sookie told me that they have a rose flavor. Do you understand how badly others want to taste their old favorite foods again? If they don't like the flavor, nostalgia alone would convince them to try."

When Bill turned to face Eric, the Viking had donned one of the most peculiar expressions he had seen. He allowed the blond to process every bit of information, patiently examining the entrance of the club. His focus roamed to the building beside it, which sported a well-lit "no fangs" sign. Interesting choice of placement.

"What's the plan, Compton?" Eric's tone had grown serious. As if Bill's logic had won him over.

The men faced each other, aware of the agreement they had reached.

Almost immediately, the pair had entered the club. It was no surprise to find the place packed. Just crawling with customers. There was barely enough space for Bill to maneuver his way to the blood bar. Likewise, Eric moved in the opposite direction. He'd have to sit down to avoid being spotted. It was impossible to "blend in" when he towered above nearly everybody in the building. There was one other man; a bald, broad shouldered guy standing on the opposite side of the room. They made eye contact, and exchanged a knowing nod. Greetings from the tall people's club; where all Amazon sized men simply nodded at one another from across the room. Because they all knew the feeling.

Eric found a sofa and claimed a spot, observing Bill's interaction with a feisty, possibly intoxicated, Sookie. Her arms were crossed, neck stretched forward; as she did every time she squinted at somebody she had an issue with. It was yet another costume night. The crowd was speckled with women dressed as flappers from the twenties. Pearl earrings and necklaces, high black stockings and high heels. Bright red lipstick had been traced over the lips of many a woman; more commonly found matching red dresses. The clichéd short, layered dresses, covered in tassels that proved to be a threat to dancing partners every time the woman turned.

Equally formal, most of the men took care to have a button up and slacks. The vampires, at least. It wasn't uncommon to see a human in jeans; they didn't care for the dress up and figured it was just a fun addition to the atmosphere of the club. While they were right, they probably didn't see the full picture.

Bill really wasn't joking when he mentioned nostalgia.

* * *

Eric had tried to be polite; refusing drinks from servers and waving off people that were too eager to dance with him. The constant approaches started to work away at his patience like a course grained sheet of sandpaper. Just as he thought he might take matters into his own hands, he noted that Bill had managed to lure Sookie away. The couple had started to walk to the entrance, and Eric took his opportunity to move over to the blood bar.

Much to his surprise, it wasn't exactly a bar. It was just a line of women, standing behind a counter near a computerized panel to ring up sales. The women were all chatting. They giggled amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were being so intently studied. Perhaps they had grown accustomed to it.

It was a sight to behold, women gathered around one another with flawless makeup and pin-curls; dressed as if they belonged to another era. Two of the six were smoking, giving the picture an authentic glow. One of the chairs was empty, though, and the woman Eric was tasked with glamouring was not among the others. Eric didn't have to look far. He had passed the small group and scanned the area; quickly locating a head of familiar curls, draped over a closed piano that had somehow been squeezed into the decor. The woman's face was buried in her arms; legs covered in sheer black material and tucked against her thighs. Apparently, she figured a crowded club was a good place for a nap. Luckily for her, the knee-length dress she had chosen appeared to be long enough to prevent any mishaps, similar to the one in Eric's office.

The DJ was in the middle of switching songs and low murmurs permeated the building. Even as Eric lifted the fallboard and uncovered numerous black and white keys. The tap of wood didn't rouse the woman, and he decided to take it a step farther. Eric seated himself at the piano and positioned his left hand over three of the keys. Just as he pressed the notes, the woman looked up at him, a clear frown on display.

Even his smirk had no effect on her expression. It was the perfect awakening; in the key of D minor. Something she should appreciate.

Chevelle propped herself up on her elbows and a pearl necklace came into view as she glanced around the club. Seconds later, she focused on the man before her.

"Sleeping on the job?"

"Not really." With a sigh, the woman turned her gaze back to the crowd as a new song started. Something more fitting for the era, and encouraging any overly romantic vampire, or especially daring human, to replicate the dances of old. "Some people... Vampires..?" Gray eyes flicked towards the Viking for a split second. "People enjoy this sort of thing. They bite me; we put it on their tab. A nap wouldn't be bad, though."

Silence followed, and Eric resolved to save the small talk. There was no telling how long Bill could distract Sookie. He needed to finish his task and leave.

"Your name is..."

"Chevy." The woman answered, taking the bait and peering into Eric's eyes. When he didn't respond, she corrected herself. "Chevelle."

Slowly nodding, Eric extended his hand, palm up.

"May I have your wrist, Chevelle?" As pleasant as ever, Eric even included the essence of a smile. Not a full one, mind you. Just the feeling that he might offer one if she complied. The woman sat up and resituated herself, draping her legs over the front of the piano as he placed the fallboard over the keys. For the first time, Eric was able to get a good look at her dress; black and cream, sporting all the loose layers of a proper dress, minus the tassels. He couldn't help but wonder where she had found such an article of clothing, especially with the intricate lace pattern.

Pam would love that store. Bonus points if it was online.

Politely, the brunette placed her wrist in Eric's grasp, watching as he drew her pulse point nearer. He wanted to know if it was true. Before he would make her work for him, he would see if there was really a flavor, or if she was better than another human. He would test every girl at the bar if necessary.

Eye contact was maintained as the man produced his fangs, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from raising. The fact that he was taking his time had made the woman tense. Anxious. Aside from the task at hand, it was always fun to test how easily he could make somebody uncomfortable. A single fang slowly scraped down the woman's skin. Plotting the perfect place to land in as Eric studied the woman's frown. Either she knew he was toying with her, or she was growing impatient.

He decided that he had stalled enough, and possibly drained as much fun as the woman would allow from the situation. Without a second thought, Eric broke the skin under his fangs. He'd been told not to play with his food before, but it was much more fun if he did. The man barely got a reaction. Anticipation had definitely built, but the moment he bit, Chevelle's attention was elsewhere. Off in the crowd, on the women at the blood bar, anywhere but him. No more fun, he guessed. She didn't even seem to be checking him out! What was up with that?

If she didn't look, she would miss the incredibly alluring expression he wore.

More importantly, there was a significant difference in the taste of her blood. Compared to human blood, he would easily mistake her for something. He wasn't sure what, but something else. Not like the aged wine of Fae blood, which had the power to both captivate and inebriate. It was a good taste, nonetheless. Natural and sweet. Captivating, so, one out of two. That was still a good score if he scaled it between human and Fae. He'd buy it.

It wasn't until the woman placed her free hand on his shoulder that Eric realized he was still drinking. She squeezed as if bracing herself, and the man took note of the clear signal. He quickly retracted his fangs. His tongue cleaned the puncture wounds and he released the woman, still lost in thought. If he could replicate that flavor, he would outsell this place. Or, he could just take her. Like he planned. Chevelle was busy tracing her wrist with her thumb as Eric slowly rose to his feet.

He leaned towards her, one hand on either side of the woman as he demanded her attention. The moment she met his eyes, he locked their gazes.

_"Chevelle, can you hear me?"_

The brunette slowly nodded, despite the noise of the room.

_"Good, listen carefully. Chevelle, you don't really want to work here, do you? " _

Eric mimicked the shake of the woman's head, mocking sympathy.

_"You want to work at Fangtasia, with me. You want to make a new blood bar, because you aren't receiving the respect you deserve." _He paused, fully aware of the woman's strong mental attempt to avert her eyes. She knew exactly what he was doing, and he would have to erase that.

_"You want to work at my club, as my employee."_

Steel and crystal remained fully engaged; locked in mutual understanding as Eric continued.

_"You'll quit this job, and come to Fangtasia tonight. We'll take care of you; you trust us, right?"_

Again, a nod. Despite her attempts to break eye contact, she was powerless to resist him.

_"When you look away, you won't remember anything about this. I came in, spoke with you, and you haven't been able to stop thinking about me since. It was all your idea, because that's what Sookie wanted. And you wouldn't want to disappoint Sookie, now would you?"_

The brunette's responses were on time and appropriate. She accepted everything he said, no longer fighting him.

_"You will plan a new blood bar and if you do it well, I will reward you. Any questions?"_

"How?" Her voice was an even whisper, barely audible, even to Eric. He couldn't suppress the raise at the corner of his mouth. The man lifted his hand to Chevelle's chin and his thumb grazed over her bottom lip, just barely tugging it down with his nail.

_"How? If you please me... If everything is to my liking, I will fuck you. Do you understand?"_

A moment passed and Eric waited for the woman to speak. Just as she started, a small, questioning grin curled her lips. The woman grabbed the hand on her chin, thoroughly confusing Eric. She snickered to herself as she pulled his palm away and leaned into his ear.

"You're _ridiculous_."

All Eric could do was stare straight, frozen in place as Chevelle shook her head, her giggles growing louder. A jolt of surprise had shot through the man as his hand was moved and the woman worked her way off the piano. Her palm remained on his back as she showed him her wrist, still humoring the attempt at glamour.

"This one's on the house." Chevelle started away, not caring to look back as Eric turned to gawk at her.

Well, that was awkward.


	6. Pride

**A/N: This update came a bit sooner then expected. An extra line has been added just as a place marker, because it got so long. Thank you all for your comments, they really give me the fuel to write more often. I hope you enjoy this chapter; gotta say, I'm honestly surprised by it (I know I'm the writer, but characters have their own minds!). So please, tell me what you think. :) And the phrase "_Nordic Honey_", props to _Noniebee (4352183)_ for that. Just showed her True Blood a few weeks ago, and that was her description of Eric. LOL  
**

* * *

When Bill regrouped with Eric, the men were back outside. A moment had been spent in silence. Both walked and waited for the other to inquire about the success of their plan. Two o'clock was quickly approaching, marking the close of "Temptations", and the increase in business at Fangtasia.

"That went surprisingly well." Bill was the first to speak. His smile was clear in his voice and mocked Eric's failure. When the raven-haired man turned to the Viking, he prattled on; oblivious to Eric's sour mood. "Have you already picked a spot for your new bar?"

Bill's steps slowed to a stop, and Eric ignored the clear gesture for pleasant conversation.

"It didn't work." The words were forced through a tense jaw. Only offered for insight. Eric didn't care to hear Bill's opinion on the matter, and left him behind without a thought. If that girl remembered that he tried to glamour her, she would tell Sookie. Then he would have a fairy buzzing around him, intent to scold.

"What?" Bill picked up his pace, reaching Eric's side in no time. "I thought she was a Human."

"She _is_ a Human." He didn't know if he should be angered or intrigued. A human that couldn't be manipulated, or a girl that had intentionally insulted him. Did his curiosity outweigh his anger, or was it the other way around?

"That's not possible." Bill's voice only served to further agitate the Viking.

"I _know_." He drawled, his eyes still locked straight ahead. He was going to handle this. She wouldn't have a chance to tell Sookie.

"How could she-"

"I _don't know_." It almost pained him to say it. As long as Eric had been alive, he hadn't had a single Human defy logic. He could always out-think them. Out run them, overpower them. She was a Human, for crying out loud! Bill was still following him. As if they would both return to Fangtasia and share a drink. Discuss theories and find a solution together. No, Eric would handle this. He would figure this out, and solve this issue on his own. After all, he couldn't have that woman blabbing about his less than successful attempt. Eric came to a full stop, his mind finally made up.

He didn't waste time on looking at Bill's confused expression, and parted ways with a simple command.

"Distract Sookie tonight."

Bill was left alone, simply watching as Eric turned on his heel and disappeared in a blur. Back towards the club they had left.

He didn't know what to expect. Eric was known to use twisted methods to achieve the effect he desired. He didn't want to betray Sookie again. Didn't want her to find her friend bloodless and pale, or missing altogether. Still, the raven-haired man knew the consequences they would face if he didn't oblige. He'd just have to trust Eric not to go overboard.

That was a horrible thought, but he didn't think Eric would kill her. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

Chevelle had a hard time convincing Sookie that it was safe to leave her alone. She'd told the woman that she had to count down and close the club. Despite the claim, Sookie reasoned that it wouldn't make a difference if she was there. She was right. Only when Bill entered the club, did Sookie consider leaving. He asked for a moment alone with the blonde, and before Chevelle knew it, they were excusing themselves and running off like a couple of teenagers in the first stage of love.

Bashful glances in full effect.

And then she was alone. Aside from sweeping and totaling money, Chevelle had to change. Sitting in the dressing room alone, compared to the beginning of the night when the other girls were with her, always felt different. She'd lose herself in thought, just staring at her own reflection. The makeup was surreal; crimson lips, winged eye liner.

Truthfully, she should have hated it.

Her fingers carefully removed the pins from her hair and one by one, each pin-curl fell to her shoulder. She could only imagine what her old community would think of her now. Face painted; no kerchief to cover her hair. Provocative clothes and employment. Being shunned was painful, banishment was worse, but if any of them saw her on a pole or selling her blood to vampires for a few extra bucks...

_"Schlampe" _would be whispered behind her back, if she returned. As if she was selling her entire body with no regard for decency. And who was she to say that they weren't right? A tap stole her attention for a fraction of a second, but was ruled off as a mouse. It wasn't an uncommon sight in Louisiana.

Again, she was lost in the mirror. Combing her hair and staring at the black lace over her chest. Before she'd left her old home, she'd never heard of a garter or known that people made undergarments out of lace. Chevelle had never worn a bra or high heels. Even now, they felt like guilty pleasures. Just like makeup. She loved the effect and sudden rush of confidence, but the moment it came off...

Before she could get to dressing, she was trapped by a pair of hands. In a blur of movement, they had found the tabletop at each of her sides. Chevelle dropped her comb; jumped at the sudden appearance of a man behind her. If he didn't stop sneaking up on her, she was going to have a heart attack. Behind her, stood an overgrown Viking vampire. He was leaned over her right shoulder, mouth pressed into her curls as he breathed.

"So ein hübsche Fräulein..." The murmur creased her brow and left her gaze on the floor beside her chair as Eric pulled away. A pretty young lady? What the hell was he on about? His accent was rusty, and if tone was to be trusted, he was trying to intimidate her. The man met her gaze in the mirror, his skin cold to the touch. Whatever he was doing, she didn't like it. Practically speaking, she was in a dressing room alone with some man that she didn't know. Not to mention, half dressed. If she hadn't been so distracted with her own thoughts, she'd have felt the full effect of the shiver down her spine.

It wasn't every day that a man with a voice like Nordic honey whispered in her ear.

She faltered, for a moment. Blinked herself back into reality and retrieved her comb from the floor. As if he hadn't broken in and intruded on her alone time, the woman began to comb her hair again. It was smarter not to entertain him. Modesty be damned, she wasn't about to give in.

The blond continued to study her through the mirror. He watched for any sign of weakness or reaction, but Chevelle wasn't an idiot. All trace of surprise was hidden behind a wall of stoicism.

"You know what's interesting?" Chevelle dragged the comb to the ends of her hair as if nothing had changed. Above her reflection, Eric's brow barely creased.

"Everybody's so concerned with doing the right thing." The woman placed her comb on the counter and met Eric's eyes. Neither smiled or showed any hint at expression. Simply looked. "We do what we're used to. Because that's our version of the right thing... isn't it?"

"Right and wrong are all a matter of opinion." His reply came quickly, for an off-the-wall topic. Perfectly timed, thought out, and spoken carefully. She hadn't been hard to find. All Eric had to do was follow the scent of her perfume. It had led him the back room, filled with shelves and lockers. Chevelle had been seated in front of a mirror that was surrounded in light bulbs and stretched across a sidewall.

The woman started to stand, slowly turning to face the unexpected guest. She had figured he would take a hint when she shut him down the first time. If he didn't she could always bore him with ponderings of the universe and drab conversation. It worked every time. As she turned, the chair behind her was moved aside. Eric took its place, staring her down as he left what was hardly a decent amount of space between them.

"You might be right. Imagine being trapped in an unsatisfying existence. Wasting precious time, doing things you don't really want to be doing, but not knowing what you'd rather do."

"Isn't mortality a bit _dark_ for you to be pondering?" It seemed he'd figured her out. Eric had seen through her attempt at throwing him off, leaving her almost defenseless against whatever reason he had approached her. Most likely, the same thing he had demanded before. If she denied in private, there was no telling what he'd do.

Chevelle lowered her gaze and leaned back onto the table. Willed herself not to crack under the scrutiny of the man's eyes.

"Maybe you don't have to imagine," She continued; pretending not to hear his question. "maybe your life was like mine, a few moments of satisfaction drowned by constant work." The man eased away, providing space to breath, yet keeping her cornered by his hands. "You've probably lost everybody that mattered to you, too. Then tried to do "the right thing", and fucked it all up."

The man didn't even know what to say. He didn't know where the conversation had come from, or why she was bouncing ideas off him. Either way, Chevelle eased herself onto the counter behind her and unhooked her stockings. She started to roll them down her legs, going through the motions. When the both sides were down, she placed them on the counter beside herself and turned her head as she murmured.

"I don't know about you, but it turns out for me that the "right thing" sucked all the fun out of life..."

The conversation had just turned into a bitter recollection of past events, without the events.

"And you're telling me this because?" Finally sliding his hands off the counter, Eric eyed the woman as she pulled a new pair of stockings from the drawer of an old jewelry box. The woman took her time, working the pair of vertically striped hosiery to her thigh and rehooking them to her garter.

"_You_ interrupted me. I _figured _you _wanted _to know what I was thinking."

Two things became clear as Chevelle spoke. For starters, she was a sarcastic bitch. If Eric could rip that tone right off her tongue, he would without a moment's hesitation. Secondly, she still wasn't paying Eric the respect he deserved. Even worse, she was treating him like a Human. He wasn't a stunning, alluring sex-god in her eyes. He was just some guy. And it pissed him off. Any idiot could see that he was exactly what they wished they could have. After all, he'd had centuries to perfect his presence and presentation.

And here she was, treating him like... well, anybody else.

He'd had a woman do that to him before. Treat him like he was still a part of her world; trying and slaving over something that couldn't be accomplished. Snarking at him and teasing him with jabs at his masculinity. The only difference was that she had been more beautiful. Light-hearted and cheeky. And very French.

This woman, Chevelle, was trying to fuck with him. To trick him, of all people. And Eric Northman was nobody's play toy.

He could smell her; that cheap oriental perfume that she'd probably gotten from the corner store. Despite the years, the wounds were still fresh, and the bite of Chevelle's tone was salt. If she had been sweeter, it wouldn't have helped. Just thinking about it was kicking up dust in an old house.

"You know why I'm here." Eric bit the words off, the tilt of his head punctuated his point with all the condescending wrath he could muster. In response to the tone, Chevelle squared her shoulders and crossed her arms.

"What, are you hungry?" Again with the snark. She was determined to challenge him. The woman slid to the edge of the counter and eased her feet into a pair of black pumps. She took the opportunity of closeness to mock him with a false grin. "Came to describe how you'd fuck me if I worked for you?"

Needless to say, Eric was losing his patience.

"Oh, yes. How could I forget? I have a list in my pocket." Calmly murmuring back to the woman, Eric held her eyes with his own. He knew she'd have something to say back. The woman had proven that lovely aspect of her personality hours ago. No movement was wasted in the staring contest. Seconds ticked by, the floor open and up for grabs.

A smirk cracked the woman's face and she shook her head. Covered her mouth as she snickered and lowered her gaze.

Were they being friendly now?

The giggle was short lived, trailed by a low sigh as Chevelle stepped around the Viking and walked to a locker. Eric turned to watch as she sifted through some hanging clothes.

As if they had never been sizing one another up, the woman proceeded with whatever she had been doing. Changing outfits; definitely not going casual. If Eric had to guess, she was about to go somewhere that required her to wear lingerie and be alone when she arrived. Suspicious behavior aside, he wanted to settle whatever they had going on. The Viking took post against the countertop behind him and crossed his arms. Watched the woman pull on a skirt and white button up.

"If you want to set up a bar, you'll have to have me as a partner. I won't work for you, and I want a cut."

"No." Flat out denying her offer was almost instinctual. Eric knew how it worked, and he wouldn't have some Human running around with the label of "partner" plastered on her face. Or her ego, for that matter.

Unfazed, Chevelle turned to the man behind her and moved back to the mirror, fiddling with her outfit.

"Listen, I have bills. Either you're gonna work with me, or you're gonna leave." The woman paused to look at a round clock, hung across the room. "I'm gonna be late."

An underbusted waist cincher was quickly found and hooked across the woman's torso. At the sight of the woman fiddling with the knot of lace over her back, Eric lightly smacked her hands away and took position behind her; helping to tighten the fabric and adjust the modesty panel. He received little more than her thanks, but this was an opportunity.

"It's a little late to be going out, don't you think?" Pulling at the cords in his hands, Eric glanced up to catch the woman's gaze through her reflection.

"Gotta job."

"After work?" A knot was fashioned in the center of the woman's back, and Eric remained still as the woman turned to study his work.

"Every party has hors d'oeuvres."

Was he supposed to be disturbed by that? If not, there was a problem. Probably. It sounded as if she was leaving a night of being a meal to be a snack somewhere else. What she was doing wasn't safe, or smart. In a club, she had other humans around and some form of security, at the very least.

Did Sookie know about this? What would she think about her friend taking jobs on the side? Moreover, if Chevelle got herself killed before setting up a bar at Fangtasia, Eric would have to find another way to compete with the new club. He'd have to listen to Pam bitch and moan about her customers.

* * *

"How much do you make in a night?" A slight frown was cast his way as Chevelle collected items from the counter and shoved them into her purse.

"Um... We charge fifty a bite, and I get a percentage of the totals. What I make in a night is from dancing, but I still have to rent the stage and pay fees for the music if I want a specific song or-" Chevelle started to turn as she gathered her purse, only to be blocked by a very tall, very devious, Viking.

"How much are you making tonight?"

Steel eyes flicked to the door, then the clock, before returning to the man in her way. Maybe being alone with him wasn't a good idea. Her palms found the counter behind her as the man nudged her back by her shoulder. One hand remained in Eric's pocket, making him seem too casual for comfort.

The man's hand trailed up her shoulder, pushed curls back and traced up her neck to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Uneasiness pooled in the pit of Chevelle's stomach as the corner of Eric's mouth rasied.

"Come on, you can tell me." The pleasant tone from before had seeped back into his voice. "One hundred... One fifty... Two hundred..?" Chevelle crossed her arms, still staring up at the man, as he tugged at a button on her shirt. "We could do this all night, you know."

She would have given anything to see Sookie walk through the door. When the man continued, starting with two hundred and fifty, she couldn't help but avert her gaze. A guilty signal, in Eric's eyes. He hummed under his breath, closing the space between them by inches and Chevelle willed herself to remain. For reasons unknown, his pleasant voice was far more intimidating than his angry voice.

He wouldn't hurt her. He wanted something from her, and killing her would eliminate all possibility of attainment. A nail traced down her neck again, the hand in Eric's pocket was brought to the nape of her neck. Fingers tangled with the woman's hair, and worked to further expose her skin. It was as if he was studying every inch of her.

Eric could hear her heart beat and was well aware of the effect he had on the woman. She breathed through her mouth in effort to calm herself; eyes shut. When she felt him move, closer yet, her palm pushed against his torso.

"Not the neck..."

The command was taken lightly. A suggestion. Eric had his reasons. More than the fact that he hadn't had his fill the first time, that is. He took his time placing his bite, and was satisfied with the sharp breath he'd received, as opposed to her previous lack of reaction. While there had been no change in the woman before, now, she gripped his coat. Her heart pounded in his ears and urged him to drink faster. But he had to play his cards right.

It was crucial, to pace himself. As long as he continued to remind himself that.

While he focused on that, Chevelle was far more aware of their close proximity. When working, it was always advised to use the wrist. The wrist was for customers, the neck was personal. She always preferred strangers to remain arm's length away, and this man was in her bubble. Demonstrated by the firm hand at the nape of her neck and the other, which had mysteriously found her waist.

She didn't know how much he planned to take, or if he closed the space between them on purpose. She couldn't be the one doing it, after all. She didn't even know him! He wasn't like the regulars that she saw almost daily, or, well, anybody. And she was positive that his leg was between hers, but she couldn't look down to see. That was definitely his leg.

It had to be intentional. She'd never heard of limbs accidentally pressing against strangers for an extended period of time. That didn't sound like it could be an accident. Nor could the lowering of the hand on her waist.

Eric was positive that he'd get a reaction in a moment's time; something more than a disinterested flick of the woman's eyes. For the sake of Fangtasia, of course. It was a two-part plan. Three, if the meal was included. His hand reached the top of Chevelle's skirt and he barely grasped her side before receiving the confirmation that he'd done well. A slight exhale that bordered suggestive.

The man's eyes snapped open and met their reflective twins in the mirror. He retracted his fangs and peered at the olive-toned woman as she covered her mouth.

"You shouldn't be so lewd." Eric stepped back, clearly amused by his small victory.

"You're one to talk..." The words were muttered under Chevelle's breath. She avoided the man's eyes like the plague and the room plunged into silence, save for the tick of a clock.

"You can let go of my coat, now." With each word, it seemed the smug aura surrounding the Viking grew. If it got any thicker, Chevelle would likely choke to death. She quickly released the fabric that had bunched in her hand and set to pulling her hair back over her shoulder. Without even looking, she knew that her previously white shirt was now ruined. The woman started to move or turn away, only find herself dizzy, much to Eric's delight.

"You don't look so good." Eric tilted his head in bemused sympathy. "How are you going to make it home like that? It's a long walk."

"Get away from me; I'm not falling for that." It seemed she actually knew what he was getting at. With a dismissive wave of her arm, Chevelle worked her way onto the counter to sit. Of all the things she knew, she had still fallen for something so simple it was stupid. Beside her, Eric leaned onto the counter. The barely visible grin he wore grew wider as he peered at the woman.

"No, you're not falling for it, you're going to accept it. Do you know how old I am? It's an honor, for me to offer my-"

"You didn't offer anything. All you did was grin and tell me I look bad." For some reason, being weak and tired wasn't enough to shut her up. He could see it now; he would have to kill this woman. Nevertheless, he continued.

"Sookie would worry if you weren't home when she got there, wouldn't she? I'm sure she wouldn't want to hear about anything I've said to you, or your little side jobs, would she?" That seemed to catch the woman's attention. She met the ice blue eyes that had been locked on her for too long to count, yet showed no hint at her thoughts.

"_That's _what this is?" Unable to help herself, Chevelle scoffed. A dry snicker sounded as she turned to the side and leaned back against the wall. "What, did I hurt your _pride_? Never learned how to handle _rejection_?" As quickly as Eric had turned to mock her, his grin faded. "Rather have Humans be your subservient little slaves? Fine, go ahead."

That fucking tone. She would use it for her last words, just to spite him. Either way, he was winning. They definitely didn't get along, but this would work for him. Fangs out, Eric brought the tip of his finger to one of the sharp edges. Just enough to prick his skin. Said finger was offered to Chevelle, and she glanced at the Viking for a split second before gently grasping his wrist.

"Breath a word about this and I'll stake you myself."

Snickering, Eric watched as Chevelle took the tip of his finger into her mouth.  
"You could try." It only took a few seconds for the woman to push his hand away, clearly not fond of the contact in the first place. He could feel it. Now, things would get interesting. He would make her life hell until she agreed to work for him; and he had a lot more life to look forward to than she did.

Now was as good a time as ever to leave. Eric straightened his stance extended his hand over Chevelle's head. She glared up at him as he pat her twice.

"Good girl. Though, you could use a little more tongue next time." At the sight of the woman's lips parting in a short insulted laugh, Eric mirrored the grin. As if she was surprised. He reached into his pocket and produced his wallet, slowly sifting through before tossing a few bills on the counter next to Chevelle's feet.

It looked as though he would laugh again. As if he got a kick out of seeing how much of an asshole he could be without being punched. Though that possibly wouldn't hurt him, it would make Chevelle feel a hell of a lot better. The man turned to leave, and she eyed the money; a hundred was in full view, possibly covering more than what she had expected from her previous arrangement.

But that man was a cocky dick, no pun intended.

_"I don't want your money." _

Eric turned to face the source of the firm voice. She almost sounded threatening. Good for her. The man came to a halt, his lips curving upwards as he met the gray eyes that were determined to bore a hole through him.

"_Pride _is a terrible thing to have in your line of work, _isn't it_?"

On that note, the man's brow jumped for a split second. He had thoroughly insulted her and he knew it. Pay back was a bitch. Even as he left the room and the bar all together, Eric knew, without a doubt in his mind. He hadn't arranged a business deal, he'd started a war.


	7. The Wonders of V

It was a busy night at Temptations. The club was packed and didn't seem like it would ever calm. Chevelle was in constant motion. Between dances and serving drinks, she barely had a chance to count how much she had made. Every regular was there, forcing her to split her time between over a dozen people. While most viewed working at a club as nothing but drinks and pole dances, the job was far more involved and social.

She was a shoulder to lean on, a keeper of secrets, and the girl next door. She had mastered the technique of getting customers to tell her about themselves; their families, their day, anything to create a sense of companionship. Brought a spare tissue in her pocket for any emotional drunks, and gave out shoulder pats like candy. Of course, other girls had their roles. The others weren't opposed to hugs and drank with their customers. Some girls passed the point of inebriation and nearly killed themselves on the pole; sliding upside down and saving themselves just inches away from brain damage.

Surprisingly, nobody had requested her blood. It was the mark of a bad night, more importantly, a bad paycheck come Friday. If she didn't get a real customer, her sales would plummet, and so would her reputation amongst her coworkers. Questions arose from the odd circumstances, the most prevalent being "why". Even so, it wasn't like her to solicit her wrist. If they didn't request her, she wouldn't push it. Maybe there was gossip that she had yet to hear. Or her usual clients had come on a full stomach.

What was the chance of that?

Sookie hadn't even come to keep her company. She had a shift at Merlotte's.

"Tell me all about it when you get home, promise, okay?" The blonde had been caught up in the gossip mill. She'd happily taken on all of the stories that Chevelle could tell her and even asked for more information in their time together. Admittedly, it was fun to have somebody to talk to. Words couldn't express how thankful Chevelle was, for being allowed to live with such a humble host.

They took turns making meals and doing laundry. Went grocery shopping together and ranted about everything that bothered them. Sookie wasn't always satisfied with Chevelle's dinners, though. It was crucial that Chevelle didn't eat meat, but she could still cook it.

Just as the woman started to return to the dressing room to check her makeup, a coworker approached. They were dressed business casual; to celebrate a customer's birthday at request, hence the crowd.

"Chevy," The woman had grabbed her arm to attract attention and stop her from walking away. "Some guy asked for you outside! Said it was important!"

She was yelling to her over the music and Chevelle still couldn't completely hear her. She nodded, and started towards the door without response. In all her time at the club, she'd never had somebody ask to speak with her outside. It seemed fishy, but she couldn't refuse to go. Just in case it was actually serious.

But what could be serious? Maybe something was wrong with Sookie.

The thought urged Chevelle to pick up her pace and before she knew it, she was in the parking lot. The brunette glanced around the cars and passing traffic, half expecting a stranger or Jason. Then again, she didn't know if Jason knew where she worked. Or if she wanted him to know.

Nobody was in sight. She was completely alone, and that alarmed her beyond explanation. Slowly, the woman stepped backwards. If there wasn't a person out there waiting for her, she wasn't going to stand around to find one. Another step back and she was stopped halfway; collided with a study form that had been lurking behind her.

"Took you long enough."

Chevelle had almost jumped out of her skin. Once again, a certain bastard had sprung out of nowhere and startled her. She spun around to face the Viking that found too much pleasure in surprises; forcing a scowl to replace her shock.

"Don't _do _that!" Before she knew it, she snapped the words at Eric. If she was lucky, he would actually listen. To her dismay, he simply smirked. Tilted his head and exhaled what she assumed to be humor.

The man wasted no time in pleasantries. He skipped every rule of greeting and jumped to the point.

"I have a deal for you."

That didn't sound good. From what Chevelle had seen, Eric was only interested in his own profits. If he had a deal, she could safely assume that he would be the one to benefit from it. If the man didn't want to hear the conditions of her being his partner, there was almost no chance at him being concerned for her profits. With that in mind, Chevelle rolled her eyes. Instead of asking him to enlighten her on his one-sided business proposal, she stepped around Eric; aimed at returning to the club.

"I'm working. No time to talk." Faster than she could process, a hand turned her around. She hadn't even crossed half the distance between her and the entrance to Temptations, and yet her back was against a wall. In front of her, Eric stood with all too much authority. Held her in place by her shoulder, intent to trap her under the weight of his glare.

"You've got time." He told her, didn't ask. Didn't seem to care about the amount of customers or her upcoming dance that was less than ten minutes away.

"Not for you." Her voice was flat, and hopefully portrayed how badly she didn't want to see him. Especially after that scene in the dressing room. For the second day in a row, the man had showed up at her job. Whether it be to eat or to simply annoy her, she wasn't sure. It didn't matter. She didn't want to talk to him and had better things to do. If he wanted to toy with somebody, she was sure that there was a human or two at his own club. Why didn't he go bother them?

Chevelle grasped the man's wrist and attempted to nudge it aside in hopes of freeing herself. It didn't budge. She tried to wiggle from under his palm, but made no progress. Eric didn't even seem to be affected. Just stood there, mocking her with his eyes.

"Are you finished?"

At the sight of the Viking's condescending smile, Chevelle narrowed her eyes. She guessed she was. Not like she was getting anywhere, and he definitely wasn't getting tired. With a sigh she resigned. Otherwise, they'd be there all night. Until dawn, or until she popped a blood vessel.

"I could still kick you."

"_Please_." For some reason, Eric found that funny. He snorted under his breath and nodded once. At least he had manners. While mocking her, if that made sense. "Night not going well?"

"What?" Releasing the man's arm, Chevelle felt relief pulse through her as Eric unpinned her and continued as if he'd never forced her into a conversation.

"Doesn't seem like you've gotten any customers."

How the hell did he know that? She wanted to tell him that she'd eaten a chocolate bar and suspected it to have thrown off her smell. Damn convenience store lines. Always kept the candy near the check out and forced her to stare at it. It was his fault that she'd eaten the chocolate in the first place. The blood had made her go on a cleaning spree of the house, both alarming and satisfying Sookie.

She'd caught sight of a dark chocolate bar that claimed to be gourmet. And god, was it good.

In response to Eric's statement, Chevelle scoffed. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had fucked up her diet.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" A quick recovery was made. Chocolate out of mind. "People have been biting me left and right," Maybe a bit of an embellishment. Just to show that she was having a great night before he had called her outside for an awkward party. "what makes you think that-"

"Oh?" The man tilted his head in faux surprise. Derided her any chance he got. He moved closer, gripped her wrist and turned it over. There were no marks to show. Still, Eric continued. He grabbed her opposite hand and did the same before continuing to the woman's throat. A single finger tugged her collar down, and Chevelle raised her chin. As if she accepted his examination.

"You said you had a deal?" In an attempt to change the subject or distract the Viking, she jumped to the original topic so quickly that she tripped over the words. Despite her haste, Eric remained calm. Merely hummed, "Mhmm", under the breath that was now gliding over her throat. She expected teeth. A sharp bite and quick meal that she would make sure to charge him for. Just to show that while he could push his luck with insulting her, she could also treat him like any other customer she'd had.

When the bite didn't come, Chevelle barely turned her head. Wondered what he was going to do. She was immediately corrected, her head tipped to the side as the man placed his mouth over the meeting of her jaw and neck.

It definitely wasn't a bite.

That suspicion was confirmed when a tongue slipped over her skin, and the man's body pressed against hers.

What the hell was happening? There hadn't been any warning. Nothing to prepare her for the hands that started to roam over her and pulled her into the man by the small of her back.

"Eric-" The tongue that had assaulted her was quickly moving towards her mouth. She only had seconds to speak, if she could bypass the sudden dryness of her throat. Even her own body was betraying her; instead of pushing the man off, it was bypassing his jacket. Popping the buttons of his shirt to explore his skin. "My lipstick-"

Was that the only thing she could think to say? Seriously? Not, "this is wrong, we don't even know each other," or "this is all happening so fast, can't we just watch a movie or something"? She had really just chosen, "we can't fuck, because I happen to be wearing lipstick"? What about the fact that they were outside, literally standing next to the door? She was supposed to be working and was possibly missing her dance, which she had already paid for.

A thumb firmly wiped across her lips, and was replaced with a mouth. As if one wipe was all that was needed to remove the makeup. And she was locked in a kiss that she couldn't have escaped if she'd wanted. Not that she didn't want to, of course. It wasn't like she was opposed to a kiss, or anything. It wasn't like she _wanted _to kiss him, of all people.

But damn, did he know how to take her breath away.

A hand wandered into her hair, tightly grasping and possibly destroying the loose bun that she had spent so long styling before her shift. Her head was turned, lips pulled away to return to her neck. To threaten her with a bite that could escalate whatever they were doing. If they were caught, she could get fired. If they were caught after he bit her, she could get fired, and her pay could get docked.

Two sharp points dragged across her skin, encouraged by a deep breath of suspense. When the highest button of the woman's shirt fell open and her collar was pulled downward, she miraculously recovered some of her senses. Enough so, to lean away and nudge the man back by his chest. It was well known, that force was practically useless against a vampire. How on earth, had she wound up doing... whatever they were doing... in the least appropriate place in existence?

"We can't do this." She tried to sound sure of herself. Firm, and resolute. But her words were almost lost in an attempt at catching her breath. Nothing but panting and a waving hand that she hoped conveyed her point. Ice blue eyes flicked to the woman as Eric straightened his stance. If that was how she felt, it wouldn't have gotten as heated as it was. Just looking at the woman, he could see that she was nothing more than a heaving chest and flushed cheeks. Blood was clearly rushing... everywhere.

"No?" The man repeated, non-verbatim.

Instead of even attempting a decent argument, Chevelle focused on fastening her button and wiping the corner of her mouth, where she was positive he had smeared her lipstick. She shook her head and swallowed to provide some much needed moisture to her throat. There was no chance at fresh air, due to the man that was eying her.

"We just-" Again, the woman swallowed in hopes of making her brain produce (much needed) words. "It's wrong." It was working. Slowly but surely, she was remembering languages and those things that made sentences. "I don't even know you," As she met the man's eyes, her gaze dropped to his hands, which had raised to the buttons of his shirt. Chevelle couldn't help but frown as she watched the first come undone, and Eric's hands moved to the second. "Nothing's wrong with you, you're clearly..."

The second button was pulled open and she paused to regain her thoughts as a glimpse of pale skin was revealed.

"Attractive..." She murmured, well aware of the man's amusement. "But, I have to..."

What did she have to do? She knew that she had to do something. Somewhere else. The Viking moved back against her, smirk on full display, chest out. Intentionally distracting her. He was downright evil. No idea where she needed to be, but definitely not where she was. The man's mouth migrated back towards hers. Possibly to silence her rambling, which didn't seem to be going anywhere. He spoke into her lips, and his palms slowly moved back to her waist.

"Were you saying something?"

No.  
No she was not.

"I'll explain this to you one time. Are you listening?" Azure clashed with steel as Chevelle slowly nodded. Just enough to answer without connecting their lips. "You belong to me, now." As he murmured, one hand raised to the edge of her shirt again, slowly sliding down her throat with enough ease to tell her that she was sweating. "So you can walk away; go back inside, and keep telling yourself that you _don't _want me. Or you can be _honest_, and admit that you're just _dying _to see what I can make you feel." The hand on Chevelle's waist tightened and arched her back.

"But when I fuck you, _and I will_, you're going to love _every single second _of it. Understan-"

Against every shred of good judgement within her, Chevelle stole the man's lips; successfully intercepting his "smug bastard" speech.

With one quick motion, every last button on her shirt was gone. The fabric fell open, and Eric's hand moved to the edge of her skirt. He dragged it up to her thigh, as she started to work at his belt; no longer against the wall, but fully reciprocating the man's actions. Leaned into his bruising kiss and practically begging him to continue. Their lips severed with a gasp, and teeth scraped against her collar bone as she finally succeeded in loosing the man's belt. His hands slid down her body, appropriately stopping to grasp on their way to the back of her thigh and her side; dropping with the man's mouth.

How far down was he going?

If this was a trap; it was the best and worst she had ever been in. She'd barely been able to unzip his pants before she was pushed back against the wall that had gotten her into this mess. His boxers were easy to work aside and from the feel, he was at the same point as her.

"Someone could see us-" In a last attempt at being rational, the words were forced in the place of another sharp breath. Eric refrained from pulling her bra down any further to look her in the eye as her arm wrapped around his broad shoulders. One palm rested on his toned side, on the verge of sliding to his back. Fingertips trailed up Chevelle's thigh and started to toy with her lingerie.

There was a pause that reminded her of his expert kiss. She could still feel his lips on hers, unnaturally cold, yet willing to warm with her own body heat. Their faces remained just micrometers away; fully connected by anticipation and shared air. The lack of movement seemed to wind every sense of desire up. Both aware that their lips fit perfectly. That they were a slight tilt away from resuming the delayed gratification. Hair clung to the back of Chevelle's neck, a sign of her overheating skin.

"Let 'em look." His voice was almost too low to hear. The moment Eric's mouth met hers, he was against her, working his way past her clothes and swallowing a groan that forced it's way past her chest.

* * *

With a gasp, the woman shot upright in her bed. Eyes wide, heart pounding. Sunlight poured through the windows, and birds sang their morning greetings. Chevelle glanced around her room, all trace of sleep gone. Everything looked normal. Lamps on her bedside tables, two armchairs, chests of drawers. It all seemed normal but that dream was far from it. What kind of fucked up pseudo-nightmare was that?

She was deprived. And apparently desperate.

Maybe it was that chocolate bar. She would never eat chocolate again. She wanted to pull the covers back over her head and hide from the images in her mind. But her bed wasn't safe anymore, and soaked with sweat. The smell of food had gathered throughout the house, and after spending a second to collect herself, Chevelle decided to venture downstairs. She was disturbed and in need of a Sookie-talk.

After a shower.


	8. Sugar n' Spice

**A/N: Hi all! Sorry for the long wait, I've been more busy than usual lately. I'm buying a house and the process is long and tedious, especially when paired with working crazy hours. Anyway, I had a burst of inspiration and had to start writing again. Funny thing is, I've had a few more chapters for over a week now, but I haven't been able to get them right. This is a new idea, which fits better than what I had before. So, I hope you all like it and forgive me for being away so long! Enjoy :)**

* * *

Sookie was seated in her usual spot at the table, sipping coffee to encourage her to start the day. A split shift at Merlotte's awaited her. Just a short hour away. Holly had to deal with something Sookie suspected was her son. That being said, Sookie agreed to take holly's shift and split the time with Arlene. She'd go in a few hours later than usual, covered by Arlene, then she'd work into the afternoon with Arlene. It was a long shift, but Arlene was the one that would really feel it. Her only solace was the fact that Sookie agreed to close and let her leave early.

All of this on short notice and over the phone.

As Sookie sipped her coffee, she heard steps descending the stairs. She had just finished her breakfast and set her fork on the edge of her plate. Chevelle entered the kitchen in her usual morning attire, shorts and a sports bra, hair in a tight bun.

"Mornin'. " Over her mug of coffee, the blonde smiled up at her friend.

"Hey," Chevelle flashed a weak smile and stopped at the refrigerator. She stooped into the shelves; only her backside visible as she dug around the bottom shelf.

"You really went to town this mornin'. Even scrubbed the rust off all the cast iron," Sookie glanced down at the mug in her hands. She felt as though she should be reading a paper to complete the morning look. An empty plate sat before her, sprinkled with crumbs and smears of apricot jelly. "I could see myself in every pan!"

A light snicker came from the brunette across the room as she emerged from the refridge with a large plastic container of strawberries. "Doubt it was _that _shiny." Chevelle closed the door between them and took a seat at the table.

The blue mug in Sookie's hands was raised to her mouth as she watched Chevelle open the box and start to snack on the berries. "Mm-" With a hum to reopen conversation, Sookie set her cup down. "I don't see how you can live off'a that." She remarked, frowning at the odd grin from across the table. "You spend all night running around, and you won't even drink a cup'a milk or eat a burger? How the heck are you still walkin'?"

"It's a part of the job. So is B-12 complex." She shrugged and placed the stem of a strawberry on the table as she crossed her legs; sitting Indian-style in her chair. "Fruit makes blood sweeter..." As if a bulb flickered in her head, the woman leaned onto the table. "And I had that chocolate bar yesterday, that ought to count for something."

"_Chocolate_?" The word exploded from Sookie just before she sipped her coffee.

"What? That's _food_!" A weak defense was attempted and deflected by the blonde.

"That's _candy_; there ain't no nutrition in a chocolate bar." Still holding her mug to her mouth, Sookie tried to stifle a small laugh, which was clearly heard by the woman across the table. Mid-sip, the topic was changed.

"Hey, Sook, I got a question for you."

"Shoot." The mug tapped against wood as Sookie licked her upper lip to prevent coffee mustache. Her full attention was on Chevelle, brown eyes practically carving a hole through the woman's forehead. It was obvious, that Sookie was trying to find the question before she spoke, but the woman's attempts were lost in translation. Everything in Chevelle's mind was German babble, and only tone could assist her in deciphering the unfamiliar dialect. Even then, it all sounded angry to her...

"Last night," Chevelle paused and twisted a strawberry around in her fingers. "Okay, so what if I think that one of the girls _drank _vampire blood instead of putting it on a bite?"

"What?" Sookie's jaw dropped, eyes widened as she nearly gasped the question. "Isn't that against the rules?"

Shifting her eyes, Chevelle brought a berry to her lips. "Well... Yeah."

"Did you tell Angus?"

Quickly shaking her head, Chevelle bit the fruit to the leaf. She placed the stem of her strawberry next to the others on the edge of the table. Even if somebody drank vampire blood, she doubted that she would tell the owner. For privacy's sake. "No, I don't think anybody else saw it."

Sookie nodded as she pushed herself from the table. The blonde gathered her plate and cup and walked to the sink; still immersed in the gossip.

"Some folk use it like a drug; she could be an addict. Or maybe they got somethin' going on. If she drank it in public like that, she probably had it before."

The first thing Chevelle wanted to do was insist that it wasn't like that. Tell Sookie that there wasn't much of an option, and that the "girl" wasn't a junkie. She refrained and kept the words glued in her throat. Not the best approach.

"Maybe." She agreed as Sookie set to cleaning her dishes. "Never know..." Chevelle slowly turned in her chair to face the blonde, as if it would make for better conversation. "I've heard that. Don't know much about it, though. Just that it heals and gives people energy." She wanted to add the word "apparently" to the end of that. The sparkle of Sookie's cast iron spoke loudly enough.

"Yeah. _Better for the vampire, really_." The last bit was murmured under Sookie's breath as she turned on the sink and scrubbed her plate. It allowed for a moment of gawking at the table. What did that mean? What had she done? Sookie offered no more details. By the time she turned back around, Chevelle was closing her pack of strawberries and standing up.

"I'm gonna head to work early today. Need to swing by the store."

"Again? We got every "dirt bustin'" gel and spray in Bon Temps." A contagious smile was thrown over Sookie's shoulder as she rinsed her plate.

"_Ha ha_." Chevelle forced herself to keep a serious expression as she crossed her arms.

"Oh yeah," Sookie placed a plate in the dish rack as she started on her coffee mug. "There was a box for you out front; put it on the shelf outside your door."

"A box?" A frown started to take Chevelle's features as she tried to think of anything that would fit in the place of what she'd thought Sookie said.

"Mhmm, had 'Chev' written on it. Left on the doorstep." The blonde placed her mug in the dish rack, not seeing the oddness of the situation.

"Okay," Chevelle ran her fingers over the press-points of the plastic container in her hands. "Do you need anything?" Composure collected, she replaced her food in the refrigerator. There would be plenty of time to check the box out.

"Yeah, caffeine. Didn't get much sleep last night." An entertained grin and nod met the blonde.

"You got it." Snickering the words, Chevelle started from the room to get dressed. As she reached the top of the stairs, the shimmering tone of her phone called to her.

* * *

Prior to the opening of doors, Eric entered the bar. He'd had a brilliant idea. It was no surprise; only a matter of time before he came up with it. Planning made perfect, of course. He'd wondered how the thought had escaped him before. No music was playing. Fangtasia was freshly cleaned and ready for another night of business. The stages had been wiped down for a night of dances, and the floors swept.

It was no surprise to find a certain blonde behind his bar. She was wiping down the counter, in her usual choice of short-shorts and a shirt that could pass for paint.

"Ginger."

At the sound of his voice, the woman froze. She sucked in a breath that seemed to stick in her chest, and her lips parted.

"Y- yes?"

Eric strolled to a stool and took a seat across from the woman. She was astonished and ecstatic, that he had sought her out, and he allowed her to bask in the moment. The woman's neck elongated as she leaned towards him, and Eric folded his hands on the bar.

"I need you to do me a favor."

Ginger wasn't spared of his gaze for a second. She released the towel in her hand and abandoned her task of polishing to hear the man out.

"What kind'a favor?" Hesitance weighted on her voice, which had become nothing more than a breath. A wry grin was cast her way, and Eric continued.

* * *

One caffeine delivery later, Chevelle had a new hole in her pocket. She had anticipated the moment that she could afford her own place, but hadn't expected it to be so expensive. Roommates had that effect. Bon Temps was small, and the locals were readily available. She'd been able to play the pity card; "Vampires killed my flat mate" worked perfectly. She just had to find a way to move everything around. Her car was a piece of shit and money wasn't exactly raining from the skies.

With that in mind, an early shift at the club was much needed. It didn't happen, though. New outfits were purchased to impress regulars, with as much joy as one could get from shoving a lit match into their pocket. By the time she arrived at work, the sun was barely below the horizon. Girls were already out in the club, making their rounds and hogging the last of the mid-day lap dances that Chevelle needed.

Chevelle hurried to change into her new slip. It was paired with tall ankle-strap heels for ultimate spinning capacity. Nobody wanted to be hit by a flying shoe with a heel shaped like the end of a revolver. She swiped on a quick coat of eyeliner and lipstick, not even bothering with her hair. If she was lucky, her customers would think it had just enough of an "I don't care" vibe to pass as intentional.

Her phone laid on the side of the counter, still lit from a call. Two thousand dollars. She didn't have that laying around. But she needed it by the next day.

Dead center of the night, a woman approached her. An older blonde, in kitten heels. Her hair was secured in a tidy bun, torso wrapped in a sleeveless belly shirt.

"Hey there!" Pausing, Chevelle glanced at the woman's cut off shorts. The pockets peeked at her from under denim. The woman smiled, and spoke as if they were old friends. "Are you who I need to see 'bout that blood sellin' thang? Cause I gotta say, you're much prettier than I thought!"

Frowning, Chevelle opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or insulted. Her eyes flicked upward and to the side, focusing on a freshly hung banner. Shots on sale. Buy three get one half off. "Thank you?"

"So how do I go 'bout signin' up for that bar deal?"

"Any experience working with vampires?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm comfortable 'round 'em."

After having led the woman through the locker room and into the office, Chevelle took a seat at the desk. Across from her, her guest plopped down in one of the armchairs. A moment was spared to glance up at the woman as Chevelle pulled an application from the desk, which doubled as her own on occasion. The paper was turned to face the stranger as Chevelle slid it across the desk.

"We're always happy to have new workers ..."

"Ginger," The woman filled in, and Chevelle nodded. She leaned back into the chair as Ginger glanced over the sheet of paper.

"So, Ginger, what's your diet like?"

"Diet?" The blonde almost laughed the word, then shook her head. "I ain't on a diet, just skinny natural, but'cha know what I heard works real good-"

"No," Pursing her lips, Chevelle swiveled back and forth in her chair. "What do you eat, normally?"

Ginger seemed surprised by change of topic, but shrugged it off. "Whatever, I'm not real picky, if that's wha'cher askin'." The woman smiled again as Chevelle nodded once more. This was almost ridiculous. Chevelle knew it. But she had no right to be picky if help was short and the amount of customers was growing. She figured, if she slapped a good flavor on the woman, she would sell as well as everybody else.

"And how are you with needles?" The question earned a prominent frown. Ginger's back straightened. She sucked in a breath and turned her head; eying Chevelle.

"How big are we talkin'?"

The brunette stood and moved to a chest of drawers. She pulled out one of the bags with her custom flavors and opened it to retrieve a needle.

"We're completely sterile here; we use a different needle for each injection, normally at the start of a shift. It takes about thirty minutes for it to circulate, and after that, you can sell. Dancing is like any other club though, stage fee, tipping out." The device was held up for Ginger to see; a relatively normal needle with a tube the size of a double A battery.

"What is that stuff?" Frozen solid, Ginger peered at the needle and colored vials in the bag. The items were put away as Chevelle turned back to her. Before taking her seat again, the brunette locked the cabinet with key. It didn't leave Ginger's sight until it disappeared into Chevelle's desk.

"It's experimental." Sinking into her chair, Chevelle crossed her arms. She had no choice but to hire the woman. "Artificial flavors, injected directly into the blood stream, naturally derived from plants."

Brows furrowed, Ginger slowly nodded, attention wandering between the brunette and the drawer. That had to be what Eric was telling her about. She knew it was. She could tell him where it was and he would be "indebted" to her, as he'd so huskily put it.

"What's wrong?" The blonde's concentration was broken by the woman across the table. "Don't be worried about the needles. If it really bothers you, all you have to do is change what you eat, just a little. We can work it out." Chevelle stood up, and the chair behind her lazily followed her motion. She extended her hand, and it was hesitantly met with a dainty shake. "You're hired."

Ginger's mouth formed an "O" as she raised from her chair as well. The handshake grew tighter, charged with excited energy as the woman squeaked. "I am?"

A smile and nod reassured the woman.

"I am! Oh! Thank you!"

Chevelle had to break the handshake as the woman repeated her thanks. She slid the application back towards Ginger as she stepped from around the desk. "Now, I'm gonna need you to fill out one of these applications, just to make everything official." Another paper was placed beside the original, and Chevelle tapped it with a rounded nail. "And make sure to read and sign the waver here… Let me get the boss so you can meet him too, one minute, okay?"

Ginger continued to thank her as she placed a pen in front of her and left the room to find Angus.

The moment the door closed behind the stripper, Ginger turned to the drawers.


	9. Sight

**A/N: Hi all :) Thank you for being so patient with my updates, and for your reviews. It means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

* * *

At the end of her shift, Sookie was counting the minutes until she could get in her car and finally leave. She was refilling the ketchup bottles when Sam passed her, walking faster than usual.

"Oh, hey," The jar was set on the counter with a dull tap, and Sookie started after the man. Sam glanced back at her, yet his pace didn't slow.

"What's up Sookie?" The man's chin was dusted with stubble. He was in his usual uniform; jeans and a worn plaid shirt. Not even matching the black shorts andwhite shirt combo that all the women wore. Sookie rushed to keep up with him, trying to speak before he reached wherever he was going.

"Well, I was just wonderin' if you knew where to get some cheap furniture-"

"I might know a few places, we can check some out later." Sam's steps had created a sense of urgency, which Sookie tried to appease, but she was catching hell just keeping her eyes on him. As she rounded the corner, Sam's office door was closing behind him. Crossing her arms, Sookie stopped on her side of it, still talking.

"No, it's not for me, it's for-"

"Yeah, that sounds great- Hey, look, Sookie, do you think we could talk about this some other time? I'm kinda... busy... Right now."

Staring at the door, Sookie frowned. "Uh, yeah. Sure." Just as Sookie was about to walk away, she caught eyes with Arlene. She woman looked as puzzled as her, face scrunched in questions that Sookie didn't have the answer to. With an exaggerated shrug, the blonde walked away.

* * *

Two minutes had been an understatement. It had taken while to find Angus, the owner of Temptations. Once the man had been briefed on the situation, Chevelle proceeded to lead him to his office. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and buff, with an affinity for unnatural hair colors and tattoos. Blue, was his color of the week, and under the plain light of the locker room it was more prominent.

"Her name is Ginger. A little loopy, but I think she'll do fine." The moment the office door was pushed open, Ginger acknowledged the company with a smile. She held the application and waver up for the two to see.

"All done! There were a few things I couldn't answer..."

"That's fine." Chevelle brusquely cut in, ready to proceed with the latter half of the interview. Diseases, blood type , and the like. They'd still have to get Ginger tested; it was a relatively painless process. No sooner than they had started questioning the woman, she started with her questions.

"In the next few days you should come out with me so we can see which type reacts well with your blood. I only have what we use here, so it'll have to be on our own time."Chevelle glanced up from the application, only to find Ginger squinting at her in thought. When the woman said 'a few things', she wasn't kidding. There was no last name or social security number on the sheet. No year near her birthday.

"I dunno how I feel 'bout gettin' poked with needles every day, you know."

Irritation swept through Chevelle as she glanced into her boss' eyes. Bright green contrasted his navy hair, screaming for attention. The man raised his brows, an indication that he was going to let her handle her new hire. She didn't know if this was a joke or an actual applicant.

"If you maintain a good diet, it won't be that often." In her lap, Chevelle started to twiddle her thumbs. The motion was concealed behind the desk. "And you'll need to take vitamins to maintain your strength. I'm sure the girls would be happy to show you our collection-"

"And you called it 'experimental'. What's that supposed to mean? I'm gonna be like one of those rats that get poked with needles all day and try to find cheese-" Wide eyed, Ginger brought her hand to her mouth. "Oh my god..." That's exactly what Eric had set up for her. She had walked into the room thinking it would be as easy as applying, asking about the stuff and leaving. Now, she was actually hired. They wanted to poke her with needles and they knew her name. She'd even filled out an application when she should have been running.

She wondered if they'd realized that the keys had been hastily tossed into a random drawer on the desk. She'd tried to get the drawer open, but there had been too many sets and keys to test.

In the blink of an eye, Ginger sprang to her feet. She walked around the desk and snatched the application and waver from Chevelle's hands; shredding them as hastily as she could manage. Palms to the ceiling, Chevelle stood as well. Her chair bumped into her boss's, which was also free of its person. With one long glare, Ginger dropped the ripped remains of the application and started to the door.

"I'm not gon' be no needle pusher, who knows what you could be puttin' in that stuff!" The blonde stopped as she pulled the twisted the doorknob and opened the path to freedom. "Druggin' girls up and makein' them sell their blood, I ain't a fool!" The door was slammed as Ginger huffed away, leaving two baffled people in her wake. Before Chevelle could process the uncalled for switch, Angus started to snicker.

"She's right, you know."

Still slightly confused, Chevelle peered at the man.

"You could be using drugs in that stuff, nobody knows."

"Oh, come on." She rolled her eyes, and decided to straighten the chairs at the desk.

"You don't even use the stuff, that's suspicious." Crossing his arms, Angus leaned onto the desk as Chevelle knelt to clean the paper. It was then that she noticed. A faint orange glow around her hands, barely edging into the black aura. It was the same as the night her roommate had died, and multiple people before. Chevelle knew what it meant. It wasn't something that she wanted to accept, but she'd seen it before.

She was going to die.

What had she done?

She didn't know when, or how, but it was inevitable. It took her a moment to respond to angus. Nothing could soften the blow of something she saw with her own eyes. Something that nobody else could understand or predict. And Sookie was MIA, and she needed help.

"That woman was just crazy." Chevelle scooped the papers into a pile and gathered them in the trash can. The night proceeded on as per usual. The moment Chevelle went back out to the club barely a thought was spared on the crazy blonde that had stormed out of an interview, spouting her small scale conspiracy theories. In the back of Chevelle's mind, the possibility of another late night visit nagged her. Inspired her to believe that she could be saved. Or killed. She wasn't sure which Eric would provide, at this point.

Even at the end of her shift, she spent extra time styling her hair and picking an outfit to live just a little longer. Chevelle counted her money to see if she'd made enough for the next cash drop. She was almost there. If the night went well, everything would be fine. She took a moment to touch up her makeup, painted her nails, and even wasted time playing around on her phone, but nobody showed up. It was a regular night, with no visits from customers or Nordic bastards that wanted to con her out of her own business. No death, even if her own was inevitable.

That was a good thing.


	10. Death Aura

**A/N: It's been a LOOOOOONG time since I've updated, but I haven't forgotten this story and I've been sitting on written but unedited/unfinished chapters this entire time. Going to edit them up, finish them, post, and get back into wrtiting this. I really hope you all haven't completely given up on this, but if you have, here's something for a start. Lets dive right in! please excuse typos, I'm going to come back and check for more later. :)  
_Disclaimer: I don't own True Blood but if I did, I would not be writing fanfiction and would've given it a more satisfying ending._**

* * *

"Lafayette, whip me up one of those fruit salads."

The queen of a man turned the page of his magazine and sighed. From the side of his perfectly lined eye, his gaze fixed on the brunette leaned over the counter. Chevelle grinned at him, arms folded under her shoulders.

"Hook'ah," The man's head bobbed as he stretched the word. "What part of 'new season blow out sale' don't you understand?" Lafayette folded the corner of his page and set the book down in favor of a wooden spoon. "And'ja bout's ta get them gorgeous hairs pulled out 'cha head if you get a single curl on my freshly cleaned counters." When the woman rolled her eyes, he maintained a humorously serious expression. She raked her hair back with one hand, and her gaze fell to her arms; still outlined by the orange and black glow that started at the club.

Moments after she left, Chevelle cancelled all after plans. She's ended her shift early, chose the bus instead of catching a ride or driving, and still, the glow was there. So in her steadily increasing panic and defeat, she decided to buy some weed and a smoke buddy. Naturally, the safest source of said weed was Lafayette, though Chevelle knew it'd be awfully ironic if the drugs she bought to soothe the panic of her impending demise brought said demise upon her. Sookie was apparently not scheduled to close, which she'd found when she arrived. The mind-reader hadn't answered her phone in a few days, leaving Chevelle on edge. Even more so when paired with the aura, at least.

Not wanting to be alone, she opted to wait until closing and smoke with the man preparing her food. Lafayette started to speak just as a familiar red head appeared behind her and cut him off.

"Ya'll believe that man at table seven gave me a whole twenty, just cause I kept his cup full?" Arlene stopped at the counter beside Chevelle, tip in hand. A pleased frown had taken her features as she shuffled through the cash once more before stuffing it into her apron.

"Oh he wasn't payin' for the _drinks_, sweet stuff." Waving his spoon towards her, Lafayette turned towards the refrigerator.

Arlene laughed his name, her eyes flicked towards Chevelle for a mutual grin. A bowl of fruit was placed in front of Chevelle as she leaned up, and Arlene turned towards the quickly deadening restaurant.

"Why're you standin' up here? I gave you a table."

The question was shrugged off as Chevelle reached over the counter to grab a fresh fork. "I was bored." The playfully disapproving glance she received curled her lips. "Oh, come on, I'll still tip you- maybe not as much as your little boy toy over there,"

"Hey!" Arlene's jaw dropped as she leaned up, still grinning at Sookie's friend. "Now, I know what you're thinking, and you can wipe that thought clean off your brain, Missy!" The red-head drawled the words and gazed at Chevelle over her shoulder for added sass before she bounced away. Already perky and anticipating closing.

"You's a fool if you think that's gon' keep yo ass from getting the munchies later." Devious in every sense of the word, Lafayette reclaimed his chair and picked up his magazine.

"Oh come on, I just got off." Covering her mouth as she swallowed a chunk of pineapple, the woman tilted her head. Her fork hung over the side of the bowl as Lafayette turned to his magazine. Old movies and enough weed to knock out a horse sounded perfect to end the night.

* * *

"Where the fuck have you been?"

The moment Eric stepped into his office, he was met with Pam. She was seated at his desk, arms folded over her pink two piece skirt suit and complimented by a look that only she could manage. Suspicion and irritation, all in the form of a deadpan stare.

"Save it." Not even a glance was spared on the woman. Eric walked across the room to a file cabinet. As he pulled it open, Pam made her presence known once more.

"This is the second night in a row. You didn't even say you were leaving this time."

"Pamela," The warning was deflected with a roll of the woman's eyes.

"You come in here smelling like shitty cigarettes and perfume, and trust me, I wouldn't be surprised if it was any other night," Eye contact was made for a moment as Eric found the file he had been looking for. Bills to balance. Rather, totals to find. Since he'd narrowly missed his newest prey, he'd taken the opportunity of meeting the owner of Temptations instead. It turned out that Angus, as they called him, was not immune to glamouring, and now Eric had a few comparisons to make. "but that's the same smell as that tacky little club that's stealing all my business." Pam stared straight at the man as he retrieved the file and closed the drawer.

"Your point?"

"My point?" The question seemed to spark Pam's ire. She jumped to her feet in a blur, brows furrowed. "Do you see how many customers we have tonight?" The woman strutted to the office door and pushed it open. "None. That's right; zero." Motioning to the empty room, Pam placed her hand on her hip. "Even Tara decided to leave, 'cause _food aint comin' to us in a place like this_." Pam stared at the Viking as he walked to his desk, eyes on her. He placed his file down and continued to listen, only half-interested.

"And while our _dream_ is runnin' into the _ground_, you wanna go out and party with the competition. Fuck sluts in bathrooms."

"It wasn't a bathroom." Eric's insert only sharpened Pam's glare.

"They're sellin' _blood_, Eric; real blood. How're we supposed to top that?"

"I'm working on it." Eyes on his file, the man flipped the cover. He'd total his losses and previous profits, then compare it to that new club's totals. Courtesy of the Human owner. An owner that apparently, didn't know anything about how to start a fucking blood bar. Oh, the irony.

"Working on it?_ Coulda fooled me_."

"Pamela," With a sigh, Eric attempted to stave off his temper for the second time that night. He walked to his progeny, of whom was standing at the door. Arms crossed, expression sour. A hand on her shoulder reminded her that she wasn't alone. They were a team, aiming towards the same goal. "I'm working on it. Give me some time, I'm gonna get you another bar." The hand on Pam's shoulder moved to the nape of her neck, and she was pulled into a light one-armed embrace. The woman leaned into Eric's torso, unable to help the smile that took her.

"You spoil me."

The murmur received a light squeeze and the hug broke as Eric returned to his desk and finally reclaimed his seat. After a moment of silence, Pam changed the subject.

"Tomorrow night," Eric glanced up at the woman. "I'm going to Georgia."

"Georgia?"

"That cute little boutique I love is having a sale." And she was complaining about him leaving Fangtasia.

* * *

Just as Chevelle had gotten to work, a few coworkers arrived as well. They made small talk and changed together; discussed what new outfits and costumes could be themes for future nights. Over five girls sat around the room, all in front of the mirror. The music from the club was significantly lower in the locker room. It allowed for the exchange of tips and jokes; all useful things to make it through the night. Any good dancer would listen to the other girls talk about their usual clients and how they interact with people. Every club was different, just like it's usual patrons.

"Your tag is showing."

One of the girls gripped the fabric in question on Chevelle's back. She turned as it was mentioned and peered at the white panel in the mirror.

"Anyone got a pair of scissors?" The brunette gathered her hair over her shoulder as she spoke and glanced around the room. She was met with shaking heads, save for one person.

"I think I do..." She was a petite girl named Barbara, with red hair fresh from a box. After searching her locker, the girl announced that she couldn't find them, and alternative methods were sought.

"I have a lighter, we could burn it off."

"You're not getting anywhere near my hair with fire." Chevelle immediately shot the offer down and searched through the drawer of a jewelry box, to no avail. The doors were about to open. She couldn't greet anybody or dance with the possibility of a tag jumping out of her clothes.

"I think I have a box cutter in my car."

"That'll work. " Finally moving from the mirror, the brunette turned to Barbara. She expected car keys, but got none.

"It's parked out back. Should be unlocked."

"'Kay," As Chevelle pulled on a coat and started from the room, the other girls turned to the red head.

"Seriously Barbie?"

"That's not safe!"

"I'll lock it!" It wasn't clear whether anybody had heard Chevelle, but it was no surprise that they started to scold her coworker as the door closed. Everybody had to look out for one another. It wouldn't be unheard of for some sicko to follow a girl home or try to catch her on the way to her car. Who knew what they would do if they found out that she had left her car unlocked all night?

Outside, Chevelle rounded the corner of the building. She took a shortcut, through a patch of grass despite her heels; a hike around the building was far less pleasant. Voices could be heard ahead; nothing to be nervous about in broad daylight. Five men in deputy uniforms stood behind the building. They had seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, which died down as they came into sight. Only one of the men seemed to notice Chevelle's appearance. He glanced up at her for a split second but returned to whatever they had been discussing.

Though she didn't think much of it, officers weren't a common sight at the club. Especially not in uniform. There were probably rules that prevented that. Their cars were parked close by, only three of them. Out of the corner of her eye, Chevelle peeked up at the men. She had barely reached the pavement when the man that had seen her shook his head and turned on his heel. He started to walk away, but before he could take three steps one of the other officers had his gun out.

Two shots echoed through the parking lot and sent a wave of panic over Chevelle. She had jumped, and one of the men spotted her across the parking lot. With two holes in his back, the man that had noticed her before dropped to his knees. One of the standing four kicked him in the back, and he dropped forward; possibly in more shock than Chevelle. At some point she had covered her mouth with both hands and completely frozen.

Before another kick was dealt to the man on the ground, the officer that had noticed Chevelle waved towards the group and pointed to her. The other three turned, and soon, all four standing officers were staring back at her. The fifth remained on the ground where he had been kicked. Low hisses and moans of pain were barely audible over the loudest silence Chevelle had ever heard.

* * *

Eric sat straight up in his coffin; shoving the door open. It swung as far back as it could, before the hinges snapped and the door fell to the ground. He frowned at the rush of fear that jolted him awake; eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he collected his mind. He was already on his feet, and the door to Pam's coffin raised.

"What?" The woman drawled as Eric scowled at the concrete floor of Fangtasia's basement. He didn't acknowledge her. The lethargy coursing through him was enough to let him know that the sun was out. "Eric, what is it?" Pam urged, and his eyes skimmed over the room. When she received no answer she persisted. "_Eric?_"

"Nothing." All hint of expression was dropped in favor of his regular mask, but his progeny could see right through him.

"You expect me to believe that you broke the door off your coffin for 'nothin' '? I don't buy it." Pam easily climbed out of her bed and reached Eric's side as he thought. If he focused hard enough, he might be able to make sense of whatever was happening. At his heels, his progeny peered up at the trail of blood that seeped from his ear. Her frown betrayed every ounce of curiosity within her, laced with confusion and the desire for clarity. Eric was equally baffled.

What had started as fear had been set ablaze. It was still there, but it wasn't normal. He had plenty to compare it to. He would know. Not long ago, he had convinced Lafayette to have his blood. There had been a handful of Humans over the years. Decades, centuries... Like Sookie; her emotions and responses were different. She always had a tinge of elusive, uninhibited thought. A carefree yet competent determination that set her apart from the rest. Apart from Humans.

The sensation that gnawed at Eric's chest was amazing. Nostalgic, for lack of a better word. It made him crave his shield and sword; the pelt he had worn around his shoulders. Despite the fact that he knew the woman was connected to him of his own doing, his plan, the panic felt as if it was crafted specifically for him. Eric's attention snapped to the woman beside him as she repeated his name for the thousandth time. Her voice had been drowned out by the reverberation of war drums.

"The Gods? What are you muttering about?" The woman hadn't moved an inch. Her arms were crossed, hair wrapped in a tight bun that she claimed was more comfortable in sleep in.

"Nothing, go back to sleep." Before the woman could think of another question to ask, Eric had disappeared up the stairs.

* * *

There were many things that Chevelle didn't know. Japanese, for example. She didn't know how food was sealed into aluminum cans. Had no idea how to file her own taxes. One thing that she was sure of, though, was the fact that if she didn't move, something horrible was going to happen to her. The moment the men saw her, her heart skipped a beat. When they turned to face her, her stomach wove itself into a knot.

"'Scuse me, miss," One started to approach, yet before he could take two steps, she shattered the glass that had encompassed her legs and dashed away. Twelve inch shoes be damned, that man was not going to get her.

Behind her, his footsteps quickened to match hers. She weaved through cars, practically rolling over the hoods of a few to ensure her own safety. Nothing but the pound of shoes against pavement could be heard. She could have sworn the man had called to her. Claimed to want to talk or something equally friendly and terrifying. Her ankle rolled with one unfortunate step, but adrenaline made up for the momentary lapse. Though the man could be heard closing the distance between them, she wore tall ass shoes every day.

Her bicep was grasped, and the moment she was swung around her knuckles shot into the man's cheek. The force of the blow was enough to free her and send the man on a free trip to asphalt land. All meals included. Chevelle had almost lost her balance, and stumbled to catch herself before anybody else could do it.

"_Shise-_" She had just assaulted an officer. That was great, just great. Exactly what she needed. Vampire blood, exposed tags, and assault. There was no time to stare at the man. The moment the word escaped her, she was back on track. If she made it to the side parking, she could jump the fence and put a barrier between herself and the crime she should not have seen.

One glance over her shoulder showed that there was not one man, but two, in pursuit of her. And one was bleeding and pissed off. The other two were focused on moving the wounded man. There was no chance of getting to the entrance of the club before they grabbed her. No hope in numbers if the police were after her. With a metaphorical and physical leap of faith, the woman landed on the hood of a car.

"The fuck?"

"Look at the bitch go!"

The men spoke in unison, only a short meter away and quickly approaching. Chevelle just wanted to get to the other side of the fence that the car was backed against. She maneuvered over the windshield and to the roof, leaving a handful of dents behind her as she latched onto the wooden privacy fence.

"Get 'er leg!"

Somebody was calling orders, unconcerned with the fact that she could hear them. Half over the fence, she was snatched back by her ankle. One man was deemed enough to drag her back, but she would die before she let go of the only chance at escape that she had. She would likely die if she did let go, so it was a fair shot. Chevelle had barely noticed that she'd started to shout. The amount of strength it took to hold onto the fence made it necessary. The wood was starting to bend, and though she kicked her legs, the officer fumbled to keep her in place.

"Cuff her- I can't-"

Before she could be dragged any closer, she managed to slam her metal heel into the man's nose. He instantly released her and she scrambled over the edge of the fence. Her knees and palms took the shock of gravel under her weight and she immediately determined to ditch her shoes. She practically tore them off, paying no attention to the blood that had gathered on her ankles; deep nailed scratches. Just as she was ready to run, a form was raising over the fence. Without a second thought, Chevelle chucked her shoes at him. He cursed and ducked, but both shoes missed.

Clambering to her feet, Chevelle started down the side of the building. She could hear the man drop down to the gravel behind her and the sound urged her to pick up her pace. Her heart felt as though it was about to tear through her chest and burst through her ears. Rocks stabbed into her bare feet, and just as Chevelle neared the corner of the building a form rose on the fence ahead of her and a large, uniform clad man dropped in front of her. In a moment of desperation, she turned, only to find the man she had punched closing in from behind; blood smeared across his upper lip and cheek.

She dived for the fence again, hoping that she'd make it over, but the men quickly reached her and pried her from the wood, kicking and screaming. The gravel caught her as she fell backwards, and the wind was knocked out of her. Her arms instinctively encircled her ribs, and one hand rose to clear the hair that plastered her face, but the brunette froze at the sight of the men over her. More accurately, the barrel of a semi-automatic, aimed straight at her face.

The men, one fat, one thin. The large one had a porn-stache and brown eyes. A crooked nose, and a lip full of tobacco. He spit and met her eyes.

"No," The word was too low to hear, and through her oxygen deprived lungs and dry throat, it wasn't likely to increase in volume. The skinny man, balding, bloody faced, and gun wielding. A clear grudge etched into his features. His eyes didn't leave Chevelle, even as the larger spoke.

"She's just a stripper, might as well. We don't need no witnesses."

* * *

Even through the exhaustion of daylight and the bleeds, Eric knew exactly what he'd just felt.

* * *

**A/N: Like I said, It's been a long time since my last update, but this isn't a dead fic. It's the only one I'm writing right now, and I have more material and ideas for the next update. I apologize for abandoning this for so long, but hope you all enjoyed this chapter. This is _NOT_ an end or a cheap cop out to end the story, there's more to come. Please review and give me feedback to feed my ego and inspire me to write, or to tell me what you like and don't like so I can be mindful of such in the production of more chapters. Thanks for reading! :)**


	11. Second-hand

**A/N: This story hasn't been abandoned. I've been practicing with another to get my writing up to par after a two year break. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, the latest review prompted me to pick this up again, and I can't express how grateful I am. Thank you for being so patient with me, and please enjoy. :)**

Just a stripper. She was just a stripper, and when the ripple of her death struck Eric, he had been in his office. Pam hadn't followed him. Instead, she climbed back into her coffin with no strength to stave off the drowsiness of the daylight hours. In all honesty, Eric didn't have it in him to stick it out either, but an unnatural shot of adrenaline and panic has taken his veins. All the while, the time rendered him powerless to do a thing about it. He was reduced to gaping at the wood grain of his desk, his forehead cupped in his palm. Droplets collected on the surface below him, seeping from his nose, ears, and eyes. 

He had no concept of how long he had been awake now. Hours? Exhaustion swept through him, and the bleeding grew in severity. But he was stuck to his chair in deep contemplation. Chevelle had died, after an extended bought of terror and distress. He didn't have a heart beat, and no blood flowed in his body, but he had definitely been taken by some form of physical reaction. A thumping, or a drum. He knew it was a drum, but from where and how? He had been hallucinating. Battle cries of startling familiarity and a cacophony of rhythm that pulsed in his gut. His stomach was churning, and the man thought by some impossible chance that he had mysteriously fallen ill. Why? 

Never before had he experienced such a startling discordant collage. 

Calling Sookie was out of the question. For starters, how would he spontaneously have knowledge of her friend's well-being (or lack thereof)? He couldn't explain what he had done to her to the fairy girl. Might as well fall to his knees and beg her to nag him until he withered away into nothingness. Silver chains and a Prince Albert piercing sounded more appealing. There was Ginger, but she was incompetent. Dismayed as he was, Eric Northman was incapable of altering the situation in any way; especially if the jolt and sudden silence of the connection rang true. If she was already dead, it would do no good. 

More importantly, she took the knowledge of setting up a legal blood bar and flavoring the girl with her. Pam was going to have a field day with this. That said, he still had one narrow choice. Now, all that remained was the pre-made injections that Ginger had informed him about. They were in a drawer in the office of Temptations, and the Human owner was not above falling victim to vampiric manipulation. 

With a low sigh, the Viking pushed himself up and eased his way from the office. He would sleep. Somehow. Even without a true bond, the link of his blood influenced impractical emotions and gave him the illusion of actually being deprived of something he hadn't had to begin with. When the moon rose, he would go to that club and look around. Find the vials Ginger told him about. Send a portion of them to be analyzed. The man sank into his coffin and fixed the top on as though he hadn't accidentally shattered the hinges. Bill would suspect him. The moment people realized that the woman was gone, he would be their first guess. Sookie wouldn't be far behind the raven-haired vamp in her suspicion. 

Anybody with a brain would suspect him. 

When sleep finally came to him, he dreamed of his home. Of being human, and wasting his time away with errant flights of fancy and nothing more. Chevelle had been wrong about him, last they spoke. He wasn't like her. He'd never concerned himself with morality. Even as a human, it wasn't until reality slapped him in the face and set him on the road reserved for ruined men and adulterous succubi waiting to bleed anything with a pulse dry. It wasn't in him to consult morality anymore. It never had been. Between that woman and her morals, she'd done something to get herself slaughtered, and Eric took comfort in the fact that he could never fall victim to such a trap. He was older and wiser. Humans were child's play. 

True to her word, Pam left for Georgia. Seeing that she would get no answers about his earlier surge of consternation, she hung up her prying and set off in her usual sweep of impeccable fashion sense and deadpan snarking. Bit back her thinly concealed concern. Once alone, Eric could focus on his next step. He left Fangtasia to Tara. Peeved as she was to man an empty club alone, only a low mutter opposed him, and he ignored it without so much as a single glance. 

A line of people were shuffling into Temptations, and from over a mile away, he could detect a well-known aroma that triggered his fangs. It was in no way faint. When he found the source of the scent, the building beside the club with the prominent "No Fangs" sign, others had caught on as well. Eric was not the only one drawn to the massive dark stain that embraced the wall and gravel alike. No fewer than five others were there; sniffing the splotch. Watching, or displaying their lack of pride by outright licking the wall; newborns. They wouldn't be able to track that prey. Her body was gone, but that was undoubtedly Chevelle. Somebody had moved her, in broad daylight at that. It wasn't a vampire; of that, Eric was sure. And the photogenic woman could not have moved herself. 

After staring for another moment, the Viking immersed himself in the crowd that streamed into Temptations. His first observation arched his brow. Not a single woman was at the blood bar. On the front of the register, a sheet of paper with the word "closed" scribbled in bold letters had been taped. Interesting. 

At the first familiar face, a petite red headed woman that he distinctly recalled smoking at the bar before, he inquired about the lack of food. 

"Chevy took off before we set up, so none of the girls are flavored." 

It was simple enough to be stupid. Nobody else could do it? Even the owner, Angus, was baffled by Eric's sudden appearance. When the Viking glamoured the man, he found the same lack of information. Didn't know what happened. There weren't any flavors, because Chevelle hadn't brought them, and he didn't know how to legally set up a blood bar. Fantastic. So the sarcastic bitch was dead and she took her ungodly knowledge of blood manipulation with her. Just fucking perfect. Eric could not have asked for a better night. 

Unspeakably vexed, he left the club, unsure of where to go from there. If the competition didn't have the bar, it was likely that his own business would come back in a matter of days. That was all they had over his fine establishment. Fresh air greeted the man, and a sigh that allowed relief and disappointment to merge into a single, indistinct mull of nothingness left him. Telling Pam would be a hell of a feat. She'd probably play it off. Act as if she didn't care anymore, since the problem had remedied itself. Just as Eric reached the sidewalk, eyes seemed to bore into him. He could feel himself under the scrutinizing gaze of at least one person, and the scent told him that he knew exactly who it was. 

Standing in front of the "No Fangs" side, silhouetted by the bright yellow bulbs, two figures were exactly as he predicted. A certain blonde and her raven haired fool. As if he needed more to deal with. 

"Eric," Bill started, but he cut into the speech before it came. Didn't have the time or the mind to entertain the bullshit that was flying at his head with startling speed. 

"I know." 

Sookie stepped forward, her hands cupping her mouth and nose. Glistened eyes and pinched brows that compelled him to sweep her off her feet and indulge himself in her blood. Not in front of Bill. Not while she could blast his face with scalding hot light. Maybe they didn't suspect him. They were mourning on their own. 

"She didn't answer her phone all day." The drawl in Sookie's voice was deeper than usual. Strained as she forced it out and peered up at him. 

That was right. They didn't know what had happened. He had felt it, but it wasn't natural knowledge to anybody else. Eric had forced a bond, and as a result, knew exactly what had happened. Only he was aware that Chevelle had been snuffed out in broad day light. But Bill was watching him through carefully calculated narrowed eyes. Would he go so far as to hire a human to off the woman? So Sookie stopped hanging out at the club, as he so detested? So Eric wouldn't catch onto him? Then again, he couldn't know that Eric knew. He had been nowhere near them as he'd forced his fangs into the woman's supple flesh and allowed himself the pleasure of taking in her shape in spite of her mild protests. 

She hadn't wanted him at all. Not in the slightest, and even as she grasped his coat she pushed him away. It had been arousing, and all too enticing to deny. Especially when she had stopped herself from moaning into his ear. So close, yet deliberately cut off. 

"Eric, what did you do?" 

There it was. The push of accusation, when he was just as innocent as them. He contemplated telling them that it had happened in the middle of the day, but to do so would to reveal that he had taken the woman's blood against her will. Forced his on her. Then again... The dead couldn't speak. Whatever he said was truth. 

"I'm just as perplexed as you, Compton." Holding Bill's eyes with how own, Eric assumed full confidence. Antagonism rung in Bill's stance, and Eric eyed him. His lips twisted into a smirk, then down in the mock display of a grudge that he couldn't control. He'd intended to grin. "She died today, _while the sun was up_." He emphasized the words as his eyes flicked to Sookie. Hoped that she understood he was innocent. "I thought that you did it; seeing as to how you don't want Miss Stackhouse here all night. That'd be convenient to you, wouldn't it, Bill?" 

A deep seated scowl took the younger Vampire's features, and as Sookie breathed her question up to him, Eric captured his eyes with startling force. 

"I do hope you didn't kill my Human. That would be unfortunate for you." 

"_Your_ Human?" Bill's rigid stance grew in force as he squared his shoulders with Eric. As if he had the right to size him up. Completely still, Eric peered at the man through perfectly innocent, icy eyes. Looked for some sort of conformation that Bill was behind the death of the woman he had waged war upon. But that was when he felt it. 

She had died. She was dead. He was sure of it. Nothing pointed otherwise, and Chevelle had even been gone for the better portion of the day. His head turned to the direction of the gravitational pull, and he froze. Tried to feel the source out. 

"_You_ hurt her? _You did this_? Bill was with me _all day_, what did you _do_ to her, you _bastard_?!" Sookie was ignored. She prattled on, but the Viking couldn't decipher her words. Fists pounded into his chest,demanding answers and attention, but he was immovable to Sookie's assault. What the fuck was happening? He felt her. He felt Chevelle, and she was terrified. He had to go. 

"This is _not_ a joke, Eric!" Bill's voice droned into the back of his mind, but Eric couldn't pay attention to it. Sookie was pulled away. Likely by Bill. Eric didn't know. Something amazing was happening, and they weren't even aware. Chevelle. 

Wide eyed and without a second's notice, Eric disappeared on a pulse of air. Left both of the emotional idiots to confront a wall of nothingness as he set off into the woods. 


	12. Cheating Death

He could feel her eyes open. Chevelle wasn't far, and anxiousness swelled in the pit of Eric's stomach as he approached her call. Rather, her stirring. A mull of confusion and terror that nearly clouded his mind as he moved. In a blur, he shot across a roadway, past a set of headlights and the screech of breaks called out behind him as he descended into the black canopy of forest. There was no crash. The passengers of the vehicle were likely fine. Shaken, maybe, but free of injury.

Most importantly, the woman that had reached her demise under the sheet of fiery sunshine was tugging him closer. How that was possible, he had no fucking clue, but it was as if his body was on autopilot and every millisecond fostered curiosity.

"This is your first time dying so far, right?"

"Uh..." With a tilted head, Chevelle squinted at the brunette before her. The woman was scribbling on a clipboard and was, as far as Chevelle could tell, completely calm. Bright green eyes fixed on her, and the woman nodded twice, then turned back to her clipboard.

"I'll take that as a yes."

For some reason, the woman acted as though she wasn't displaced in her plain white button up and in the middle of the woods. Like she belonged among the trees with her blonde hair gathered in a bun and feathered ornaments on wither side of her head. On either side of them, a line of other women stood in animal pelts and brown leather fashioned into what Chevelle could only assume was supposed to be armor. A fleeting question crossed her as she glanced over them, and they stared back at her in all their barefoot glory. Did she need armor too? Two of the women had feathered helmets. Wrist braces and red stripes of face paint seemed to be the fashion choice of the year.

For a second, Chevelle felt comfort. She knew these women. They were staring at her with such familiarity that she was certain of that, if nothing else. But she had never been to a cosplay party like this; nothing so detailed. These people were beyond dedicated to their roles. They even held decorative horns and weapons. It had never been a theme at the strip club, but it should have been. Whatever it was, people would like it.

"Is this... Heaven?"

The question sparked some sort of humor within the woman. She gently laughed and shook her head, as if Chevelle was naive to the world. Chevelle had barely been able to sit up before the woman assaulted her. She was in a bed of moss, covered in greenery as if she had laid there for ages and needed to break away from the roots of the many trees surrounding her.

"Oh, no, child."

Child? Chevelle was a grown woman. She had dirty dreams about vampires and had established a fine business of her own, for crying out loud! But this woman who seemed to be about her age tapped her pencil to her lips and stared at the clip board, undisturbed and lightly smiling to herself.

"So I assume your memories haven't been restored? You're an adult in human years, but you're confused..."

Chevelle felt her upper lip pull up as she managed to work herself from the roots over her shoulder and fully sit up. Still eyeing the woman, she glanced around. She didn't see any signs of civilization. Only the woman sat before her, and she wasn't sure if she was alarmed or comforted to have the company of another in what she would consider a time of distress.

"So... is this hell? It doesn't look like it..."

"Oh, no. No, you silly goose."

Now she was a silly goose, apparently. Whoever this woman was, she didn't seem to be taking this as seriously as Chevelle. As far as she was concerned, she was in the middle of an unknown forest, less than a mile away from a raging waterfall that was audible in the background that didn't belong in Bon Temps, and isolated aside from this mystery surveyor.

"Limbo?"

"You could call it that." Murmuring, almost to herself, the woman pushed her pencil into her mouth, and stared at her clipboard. As if she'd never seen the information or whatever was written on it without warning, all of the women around them raised their horns to their lips and a deep tenor rung through the trees. Birds could be heard calling back to them and fleeing the trees, and Chevelle jumped at the sound. For the first time she realized the murmurs of others in the distance as the sound echoed back.

"Kneel, child."

Instinctively obeying the command, Chevelle worked herself up and to her knees. The woman that had worn business casual to a caveman party stood and stopped in front of her. Lightly hugged her around her shoulders, and pressed Chevelle's nose into her stomach. When she was released, she could no longer help herself.

Just as Chevelle started to stand, the woman reached out an poked the eraser of her pencil into Chevelle's forehead. She was immediately thrown back to the ground; her back hug it as though it was a natural position that it had long been accustomed to, and she cried out as she was struck with a force that would usually knock the wind out of her.

Her eyes bulged at the realization that something was wrong with the woman before her. She was unnaturally strong, like a vampire, and not afraid to assert her strength. The women with horns giggled. As if it was a rookie mistake, and they couldn't help but exchange glances. What kind of fucked up tribe was this and why were they in Louisiana? Running around in broad daylight in animal pelts and blowing their horns...

"A gunshot wound, hm? That's... Mundane..." Her words made no sense. Mundane? That had been one of the most terrifying experiences of Chevelle's life. She'd easily rank it in the top three. "You have a few more to goes. Work on your memories and get back in there."

"What?" Nearly gasping back at the woman, Chevelle tried to grasp at a vine that slid over her forehead. Her arm was quickly wrapped in another thin tendril of ivy. One that seemed unobtrusive and easy to combat. Her idea of it was wrong, however, and she was fully restrained by its stifling grasp.

"Yeah. And drain your blood. It'll be more potent if you don't and there could be an accident. Wake up now." The button up clad woman gracefully squatted at her side again and pressed her pencil into Chevelle's forehead. Before she could ask more she was being squeezed under a layer of darkness and surrounded by the scent of fresh dirt.

Her body ached and her arm barely moved when she pushed against the solid barrier over her. A splitting headache greeted her and she her cheeks were graced with a gritty slide of soil as she struggled. She was trapped. Smothered under a thick slab of earth and beyond baffled. Her arms worked upwards, only to find no give. There was no hope of escape and she was going to rot in whatever soil-y hell she was currently being smooshed under. Even more than that, her panic was giving way to an unmistakable disorientation. As though she had spent the night guzzling shots- non-vegan shots that would be the death of her.

For a moment she wondered if she had been possessed. That and had a bad dream. Hence her previous gun related demise. What she had seen had struck her as real, but it couldn't have been. Maybe a hallucination. It could have been like a TV special, where a hair pin saved her life and she needed to pull a "Kill Bill" to escape, but there was no coffin.

Then her mind wandered to her blood, frazzled and beyond confused. The woman had said to drain her blood, and if Chevelle's speculation wasn't mistaken, even underground, the aroma of fresh blood would draw a vampire or two. But that wasn't what she wanted. She cried out at the exertion of pushing against the soil; her voice muffled and dead in her ears as she pushed. Dirt entered her mouth and nostrils and she choked again. Her nails weren't enough to cut herself, as if that would be her salvation...

Hallucination or not, there was no denying that she was in the ground.

Too weak to have an impact on her impromptu grave, Chevelle gave up. This was it. She was going to die in a secret bootlegged tomb in Louisiana, alone, and suffocating on soil in the middle of nowhere. Exactly what her mother would want, she was sure. She gave up to attempt a breath that wouldn't fill her with dirt, and barely managed to cover her nose. There was no air. There was no air, and she was going to die, if she hadn't already. Her struggles gave way to a stillness that consumed her to the tips of her fingernails. Exhaustion seeped through her veins, and Chevelle spent time coming to terms with it.

Let the taste of not only the earth but hopelessness settle on her tongue. Then panic washed over her again. She had to escape. There were bugs in soil, and her skin crawled at the thought. Bugs would get on her. They were probably already on her, and the thought brought the sensation of millions of scampering legs covering her limbs. She struggled against the dirt, which she realized was not compact, and her arm shot through to nothingness. The weight on her lessened as she reached grass and started to drag herself out but tiredness took her once more. Close as she was, her goal was so far. Whether she had the strength to fight her way out of the bug filled hell was a mystery. She was as still as the dead, stiff as a board as the dirt suffocated her. With another forced pull it give way to fresh air, which greeted her, seemingly just as jubilant as she felt.

Just as she suspected that she had some secret powers, a man's voice rang out, and in her mind frame, she barely made sense of the words.

"You-" Eric's voice, smooth as it was, was lower than usual. He stared down at the woman, wide eyed as she convulsed with a cough, seemingly unaware of him. She grunted as dirt rolled off of her and she heaved herself upward and out of the earthen tomb that was sure to be her end. Merely two feet away, a familiar face gawked down at her as she turned onto her back and brought her hand to her head, no longer able to ignore the headache that threatened to split her in two.

"Ja..." She choked the word. "Mich... Heilige Scheiße... "

Maybe death had taken her English. Eric didn't know. It wasn't every day, or even every century that people came back to speak with him or cough up whatever had solidified in Chevelle's lungs. Not without turning, that was. Her hand was still over her head, and she murmured, "what the fuck" in German repeatedly. Paid him no mind. As though she hadn't just emerged from a shallow grave.

Then her head rolled back.

She groaned in pain and before Eric's eyes the solid black hole in her forehead moved of its own accord. Chevelle felt her fingers dip into her a hole in her forehead. It was just the tip of her pointer finger. No more. But the pain was unmistakable and a solid barrier met her to pushed against the invading feeler. Before her very eyes, or mind rather, the metal was slowly expelled from her skin until it was nothing but a dented shell in her fingertips, ready for examination and taunting her with the essence of narrowly escaped death. Rather, a death that refused to embrace her.

She held the bullet out for examination only to find the injury solid and MIA. As if it had never existed and had only been a figment of her imagination, leaving only the actual bullet and her dirt coating her as proof of its existence. All the while, Eric Northman's gaze never left her. He peered down at the woman, barely illuminated by moonlight, and could hardly believe his eyes. She turned and peered up at the man holding the bullet, and frozen in place. Eric. And his eyes were just as distant as hers had been. Settled on the bullet and lingered to process what he had just witnessed.

"What... What _are_ you?"

"Dying, God damn it-" Peering up at the Vampire, Chevelle turned and pushed herself onto all fours. As sure as she sounded of herself, the viking was positive of one thing. She was doing the exact opposite of such. No, she already had done the exact opposite of it. And she smelled... Different. He couldn't place it, but was positive that her scent had changed, and it wasn't the same as stale blood. "Hilfe- _Help me_-"

Helping wasn't at the top of his priorities. His senses were escaping him as he peered down at the woman. Whatever she was, whatever she was doing, it was besting the self control he'd spent over a thousand years fine tuning. His fangs jumped out without his consent and though he didn't need air, he drew a deep breath that escaped him in a growl. He was starving. He'd already fed, but he was ravenous, and she was candy. Chevelle had all but begged for help, desperate as she was, and he was going to eat her.

She recognized the look in his eye, and panic surged through her again, but she couldn't run. Even so, she tried. Hesitation surrounded Eric and betrayed that he was a threat. In no way was that man going to assist her, he was watching her like a tiger stalking a bison. Chevelle worked herself to her feet and stumbled as she tried to take to the forest. As if she could conceal herself among the tree trunks, but the moment she managed four steps, he was on her. Before she knew it, she was back on the ground and pinned underneath the man. He held her down by her shoulders and his fangs remained ready to puncture whatever they could find.

Though the woman slapped at him and pushed with all her might, Eric was stationary. Her nails cut into his skin and scraped at his neck as she tried to force him away. Chevelle cried out and cursed him for all that she was worth. Rebellion took every tone and action, and she spat insults at him as she fought against his dominion. All of her strength was nothing compared to his grasp, and she feared that her shoulders would be crushed. The look he had donned persisted. Let her know that she was nothing but a perspective meal and that he was out of his fucking mind. Like she needed this on top of waking up in a grave. Though she smacked him, his hands gripped her wrists and fully pinned her down. Subjected her to his nonexistent mercy, and reduced the woman to submission. Then one hand grasped her jaw and raised it to expose her neck.

She had no intention to, but she found herself grasping his dark coat and pushing his chest. Why? Why had he shown up and trapped her against the dirt and whatever hard object was jabbing into the small of her back? Chevelle tried to wiggle away, yet was completely cornered. She was nothing compared to a vampire, and she knew it.

Eric peered down at the woman as she looked away, and her brows raised in fear. He had to have her. He had to eat her, or fuck her. Or eat her while he was fucking her. Both, he needed both, and though he had no intention of it, his body had moved on its own and locked her there. He had to fight it. The Viking didn't know what had caused him to hunt her as if she could have posed a challenge in her state, and he didn't know why he was trying to consume her, but his entire body ached to have her.

"Nicht- nicht!" She was commanding him not to, but the more she struggled, the more he needed to. "Bitte-" If there was a God, he had to be damning it. Chevelle was begging him, apologizing and trying to weasel away, but he couldn't let her go. One bite. One bite wouldn't hurt. She had brought this on herself; challenging him and prancing around like... Like however she was. Chevelle was still on the fence about whether this was a dream. A dream of a dream or the worst nightmare of her life. Sharp points dragged up the skin of her neck and she froze in place; fully anticipating a bite or to die under a vampire she hardly knew.

Then she was alone.

The weight on her disappeared, and so did the man that had found her. She was left; covered in dirt and panting to her herself as she sat up and clutched her throat.

**A/N: Took a while, but new chapter! Bam! I'm rewatching the true blood series right now, so it seemed like the perfect time to write this. Hope you all enjoyed and thank you for your feedback and bearing with me on the wait between chapters. :)**


	13. Self Imposed Obligation

Something had come over him. For the first time in years, Eric Northman had nearly been bested by primal instinct when he had intended to be tactful. It had been a golden opportunity; the woman that refused and challenged him had been trapped into begging for his assistance. Nobody else had been around and an invitation to elevate both her opinion of him and trust had practically thrown itself at his feet. And he attacked her. Nearly drained her for all that he was worth, what was wrong with him? He hadn't been able to help himself.

So he ran. If he killed her, the information he wanted would die with her and he'd never hear the end of it. Not only from Pam, or Sookie, but from himself. What was that intoxicating aroma?

Eric's only option was to return to Fangtasia, and the moment he was away from Chevelle he no longer hungered. In all of history he'd only read and heard of such a reaction from full Fae. It wasn't as though she tasted better than Sookie, or a full Faerie, for that matter. He'd tasted her before, and she wasn't anything to write home about. So why had he nearly lost it?

Even more, was she safe if a Vampire with his level of self control couldn't contain themselves? Beyond probably traumatizing a possible business prospect, Eric had gone against his own better judgement as a business man. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to be around the woman without draining her again. Not after that.

Shoving the door to his bar open, Eric found only two people. Humans. Moping at the bar while Tara read a book. She eyed him as he walked to his office, but he ignored the look and the eager perk of their shoulders.

No. He'd do better next time. He'd know what to expect.

It was then that he felt another pull. A call, so to speak, and it couldn't be ignored. He'd left Chevelle in the middle of the forest, covered in dirt and disoriented. Trusted that she'd find her way back on her own and that they'd continue their banter-like war. That also meant that he had left her for anybody to pluck up. If Eric Northman couldn't help himself, how could anybody else?

Something was happening to her, and again, he was the only one that knew. Eric had left her there, and that hadn't been his plan, but maybe this would work out better. Maybe he could turn this around.

He did just that; went the same way he had come and was gone before his office door could gap the few inches he had opened it. In the blink of an eye, he was back in the woods and following the woman's pull for the third time that day, and what he found was exactly as he had expected. Two forms, huddled against a tree. One was deathly still and locked at the throat of the other, while the latter desperately struggled against the newcomer. Before Eric was upon them, the vampire, whomever he was, recoiled.

Eric could felt a charge in the air. Something he couldn't place. He smelled blood, both Chevelle's and another person's. As her accoster stepped back, a pained wail echoed through the trees. All around the two at the wide oak base, the area seemed to darken, and in Chevelle's hand, a glint of silver caught the Viking's eye. Faltering as it was, a silver dagger would only piss a Vampire off. His fangs were already out, and as he approached the scene before him. Chevelle's posture straightened, and the man in front of her froze.

Intervention was the plan, but now, Eric wasn't so sure. He wanted to see where this was going. The air had grown deathly stiff, yet before anything remarkable could happen, the man that had been draining Chevelle regained his composure and snatched her forward by her collar.

That would not have been interesting if she hadn't pushed her hand into his face and revealed something that was all too familiar, and all too foreboding. Something of a light. It looked like a light, but it wasn't strong enough to dislodge the man. He grasped her wrist, and Eric decided that he had seen enough. More than enough. But now, he wanted answers. If she was a fairy, she didn't act like one and she sure as hell didn't taste like one.

He wouldn't hunt her this time. He would fight it.

With one swift motion, the Viking flung the man away and put himself between them. He menaced over the unfamiliar Vampire and held his new position, stoic, and brimming with questions anew. Blood dripped down the man's chin and onto his t-shirt, still scenting the area with the questionably delightful aroma.

"The hell do y'think yer doin'? That there's mine, I found 'er!" The man wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and mistepped. Stumbled to the right, then untangled his legs for balance. It was an odd motion. One that drew Eric's attention to the uncharacteristic sway of the stranger's torso and the glazed pull of his dark eyes.

"The penalty of being caught feeding on a Human in public is still the true death."

"In public? This ain't public it's the middle of the fuckin'-"

Raising a brow to the man, Eric glanced back at the wide silver eyes on him. In front of him, the heavily accented, and possibly slurring, man squared his shoulders with Eric's. As if he could assert whatever illusion of authority he possessed.

"The penalty of being caught feeding on my Human is far worse."

Narrowed eyes met the icy pools of Eric's gaze and as he held his ground, the man took one stump of a step back. Spit whatever remnants of Chevelle's blood remained on the ground and turned tail. As expected. But not without a peculiarly sloppy stumble.

When Eric returned his attention to the woman behind him, her eyes were still transfixed on him. Dirt smeared her cheeks, and the dark edges of her robe were parted in a single tiny slit. She was delicious and practically naked. Fangs jumped out at the renewed notice of her blood, yet Eric politely covered his mouth and hid them. Not this time. He wouldn't attack her. She had leaned back against as she met his gaze, the blade in her hand was pointed towards him.

"Stay away from me... I'll cut you, too."

The corner of Eric's lips curled as he strided towards her and into the point of her knife. He uncovered his mouth and displayed his palms as if proving he was no threat.

"That's no way to treat your savior, is it?"

"Savior?" The bend of Chevelle's elbow gave at the contact of his torso against the blade. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel it singe his skin; a needlepoint of an injury, but enough to let on that his initial thought was correct. A silver knife, of all things. She wasn't as stupid as he'd hoped. "You tried to bite me. You just want to eat me!"

"Well, you're right about that... Some blood would be nice, too." To Eric's delight, the knife left him altogether now, and the woman's frown grew more prominent. She sank into the trunk of the tree behind her, and turned her head. Ignored his statement. Though it had seemed her eyes were glowing, he realized that it was a reflection of the waxing moon. They were just bright, but the moon didn't explain the shift in the air.

"Leave me alone. I'm fine."

"I tried that already; it didn't go very well."

"You-" The woman leaned forward, and her knife slipped back up as though she would use it. Then, the reflected moonlight, and the unusual stillness of the area died on a breath of wind. Her voice cut off, and her palm flew back to the tree to steady herself. He wouldn't bite her. Mead, she smelled like mead and fruit. Blackberries, apricots, something he couldn't place. He resisted his fangs again. This wasn't the time or the place to bite her. He could pay her at the club, or barge into the changing room again. Hell, he could just take her to Fangtasia and cuff her to his desk as a meal on demand.

Or he could bite her here and save the trouble, but maybe she would give herself to him. Her business, too. This was a noble deed, she was sure to sweeten to him and throw herself to his feet, just begging to be his personal blood sack. That wouldn't work if others were biting her, though. No, he couldn't think this way right now. Later.

Still smirking down at the woman, Eric leaned into her line of sight.

"You won't make it two steps. You need me."

Chevelle scoffed at the notion, and though she tried to maintain her denial of him, her knife was slipped back into the pocket of her robe. Her voice came out small, and though she didn't look at him, Eric knew he had her.

"Where am I?"

"Shreveport."

A moment was spent deciding if she would question him further. Time had escaped her and she was still disoriented and badly shaken. And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right.

"Will you take me home?"

"With pleasure." Though there was a delay, Eric murmured back to the woman. She didn't resist as he took hold of her shoulder, and he knew, without a doubt, that their war had grown interesting.

* * *

Only a quarter of an hour had passed before Eric was carrying the woman up the steps to her home, which was not Sookie's residence, anymore. That was convenient. When he stopped in on the porch, she didn't bother to lift her head from his shoulder, and from the low murmur that was her voice, he doubted that she'd even opened her eyes.

"The keys are in my locker. At work."

She must have felt his gaze on her. Barely shifted in his arms as she sighed another line into his coat.

"Just... Force it open or... I don't care. Take me to bed."

"So soon? You never struck me as the loose type."

A lazy chuckle met the Viking, and Chevelle pat his shoulder.

"Mister Northman, would you please come inside and _not_ ravish me while I take a shower? You're not that great, but I don't wanna be alone." Eric knew this would work out. He'd managed to salvage the remnants of whatever flimsy trust she'd had in him after that... tackling scene. Too many seconds had ticked by, voiceless and equally lacking in motion, so the woman added an extra bit to further persuade him. "I'll bake cookies and pour tea. Maybe even think of some more names to call you."

His lips curved as he glanced down at the dirt covered woman, and a light chuckled rumbled in his chest. This would prove to be interesting.

In the time it took Chevelle to get the dirt out of her hair and lather the fresh puncture marks on her neck, Eric had erased the lines of comfortable decency and invited himself into the bathroom. He sat on the toilet, occasionally murmuring back to the woman as she recounted the details of her day and solidified his understanding of what had happened to her.

"The last thing I remember is being shot. Didn't expect to wake back up though."

Peering at the shower curtain, Eric leaned his elbows onto his spread knees.

"How could you miss a habit of not dying when you're killed?"

"It's not a habit, okay?" the water stopped, and he stood as silence took the room. Just as Chevelle started to reach for a towel, the vinyl sheet between them was rudely pulled back. An open towel was wrapped around her torso, hopefully before he'd gotten a good look at her. She shot him a warning glare, yet said nothing as she took the cloth into her own hands. Fixed the edges into a tight embrace over her bust before carefully stepping out of the tub and around the smug, obvious leer.

He wasn't even trying to hide it.

Discomfort settled over the woman as she planted herself in front of the mirror and pulled the hair from her neck to eye the teeth marks at the bridge between her neck and shoulder. Gently prodding the area, Chevelle flinched. That had been a nightmare. Eric was a walking nightmare, even if he had shown enough humanity to return for her and take pity on the fact that she was defenseless; on the brink of being murdered (again), and quite possible tears. Godly as his actions portrayed him, she was positive that it was all for an ulterior motive that wouldn't be so obscure if she just asked him. But she didn't want to.

The last thing she could care about was the "whys" of the situation.

As far as she was concerned, she'd had a hell of a dream, and Eric had been her only salvation. She hadn't noticed that he'd been behind her as she combed out her hair, which was nearly straight under the weight of the water.

"What are you thinking this time?"

"_Now_ you want to know?" The quip was ill-received. Brought the full force of his cutting eyes, and Chevelle found herself turned around before she could fully process the look through the mirror. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to provoke him after everything that had happened. It had been easy to him, but she had been overwhelmed and he knew it. Seeing his expression, Chevelle bit down on her lower lip and averted her eyes. His fangs were out again. Even though he drew a deep breath and carefully turned his head to sheath them, she had seen the teeth; ready to sink into her. It sparked her memory, and nothing else.

Definitely not anything else.

She'd had a hell of a dream, and if she wasn't mistaken, any time she didn't regularly let a vampire feed on her of slit her wrist to drain, they would attack her. All of them. She'd been pinned under more than five before, and hadn't thought she would escape. She knew what she was, silly as it sounded, and even if her memory, as the woman had said, hadn't returned (assuming there was anything else to remember). Her father had taught her everything she needed to know about herself. It was the reason she sold herself to Vampires every night. She was a battery to fairies, and a cheap bottle of bourbon to Fangers.

Eric had locked onto her. Challenged her through his narrowed eyes and firmly held her shoulder. She barely heard his voice, and it took a moment to switch from English as he mumbled under his breath.

"Don't toy with me, _woman_. I saved your life."

"You almost _took_ it, _too_. And _woman_? What are you, sexist?"

His answer came in English, equally low and as piercing as his icy eyes.

"No. But in my day, real women knew herbology and were community mystics."

"What do you think I use to flavor blood, magic? Herbology is just slang for science." That cracked the Viking's stoic mask and brought the tiniest of smirks to his face. His grip remained on her shoulder, but lessened to a point of comfort as she sank back against the countertop and crossed her arms over her chest. That woman in her dream told her to drain her blood. Said more accidents could happen if she didn't. Here, she had a vampire in her home and towering over her. Not to mention that she didn't have any TruBlood or the ingredients for cookies. She doubted that he wanted tea. Before she knew it, her mind had betrayed her and invited the man further into her comfort zone. "I need a favor. Just one more."

"Oh?" He didn't speak beyond that. Just let his voice hang in the air the the most condescending twist she had ever heard. Feigning comfort, Chevelle grasped the man's lapel, and pretended to straighten it as if it had been in disarray. She left the counter altogether and pulled her hair into a loose, wet bun as she exited the bathroom in search of clothes. Eric lingered in the humidity that remained from her shower for only a moment before walking out behind her and into the mostly barren house. She didn't have much furniture yet. Only her bedroom set and a TV. Didn't want her old roommate's living room.

Without giving more details, Chevelle pulled underclothes on before removing her towel and kept her back to Eric as she found a pair of shorts. When paired with her sports bra, she felt the mildest sense of an adequate state of dress and turned back to him. With a deep breath, the woman turned her head and whispered, nearly across the room. Gave him no time to study the lack of decoration.

"I want you to drain me."

In the fraction of a second that it took to speak, the man was on her. There had been no delay. It was as if he had been waiting for an okay to relinquish self control and the moment his fangs sank into her, she was being pressed against the solid bend of his body and firmly pinned against him. Chevelle had barely managed a squeak of surprise, yet sound was quickly stifled by another. A strong swallow as hands that threatened to wander her frame squeezed at her sides and she was pushed back a few steps to keep balance.

Eric felt the head rush long before he finished, but was positive that with each passing beat of the woman's frantic heart, the sensation was growing stronger. He hadn't asked any questions. Had only been able to think about eating her, then fucking her; she was practically naked, after all. Chevelle's grip on his dark coat tightened, and her stance threatened to give way at the rate that he was drinking, but he pulled her aside. Walked her to her bed and forced her to sit before kneeling in front of her and continuing. She hadn't even been able to offer her wrist or try to talk him out of biting her neck. The amount of blood was amazing. She tasted exactly as she smelled; fermented berries and candy. Whatever he'd originally thought.

When the rate that he was drinking slowed to the give of her heart rate, Eric was aware that he'd possibly had too much. More than his fill, more than any regular human would offer before crumbling to his feet and releasing their life, but Chevelle was still conscious and clinging to him. Allowing him to move over her and assume position between her legs as if she wasn't aware of the explicit implications. When he pressed against her body again, she exhaled into his ear and nearly drove him mad. Waited until he was ready to intentionally tempt her modesty before pushing him away.

"Tha- That's enough-" But he couldn't. She was so close, barely restricted by the false barrier that clothes provided. His shoulder was tapped twice, and he became all too aware of his palms; pushing up her body and further prying her legs apart to gain more contact. "No- that's- That's more than- Stop-" Her voice was cut off by a sharp moan, which managed to echo through him, and he found it in himself fight the haze of swaying world and pull back. When he peered down at Chevelle, she was wide eyed and all too aware of the pressure against her middle.

She thought he would sneer his usual smart assery, or outright refuse her, but was met his half-lidded, clouded eyes that put her on edge. Then, a low, odd laugh that hung somewhere between contagious and terrifying. A single finger was pointed at her and lazily wagged as he over-enunciated his words for clarity.

"I know exactly what you are." Before Chevelle knew it, the man collapsed beside her. Hardly moved, and was heavy enough to be a burden to squeeze from under, but when she checked, he was out cold and unmoving.

So... Maybe she needed to light proof the room.

Maybe the previous events had been what she was warned of; the mistake. Being attacked. Maybe she was Vampire Valium. Whatever the case, the man had passed out on her bed, over her. And she was tired, too.

* * *

**A/N: This update came faster than expected. Hope you all enjoyed! What do you think she is? It's possibly kind of cliche, but wil hopefully work if written properly. As usual, thank you for the reviews, and for taking the time to read. :)**


	14. Reaching Out

Too much time was spent mulling over the proper way to block the sun from her bedroom. After much contemplation, half of which was wasted waiting for the Vampire to perk up and announce that his untimely nap was a hoax, Chevelle resolved to tape aluminum foil over the windowpane. Ridiculous as it seemed, she had just enough in the counter-strip of her kitchen to do so comfortably, though would need to take a trip to the store if she ever intended to roast vegetables again. All the while, the memory of trying to escape from those men, the cops, replayed in her head.

She'd only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hadn't done anything to actually provoke them. Assuming the whole "punch in the face" part only counted after giving chase. They'd shot her without a second thought; she'd pulled the bullet from her own head, and while there were some gaping holes in her knowledge of whatever had taking place in her body while she was... unconscious... there was no entry wound or evidence of being injured aside from the usual, standard bite wounds.

A fucked up manicure. Everything had seemed hyper-realistic to the point of passing for fiction. She stared down at the glass in her hand, half filled with a pink smoothie and leaned back onto the counter. No sign of Eric waking up. He hadn't moved an inch and had smeared blood on her sheets, the asshole. Her bed had been pristine and cream before his little petting session. Everything had to turn vulgar with him, and she wondered if he was just doing it to bother her now. He probably liked seeing her squirm.

For now, she would look into having a friend drain her outside of work.

On the note of work, she finished her snack and rinsed her glass. It was already six in the morning and she hadn't slept. The sun was going to peek over the horizon in six hours, maybe, and she needed to sort out her course of action. If she returned to work, she'd risk bumping into those cops again. Possibly dying should have had more of an impact on her emotional state, but she couldn't find it in her to cry or panic. Whatever she was supposed to do. No, it left a somber, acrid taste in her mouth, and sparked her curiosity.

Did it mean that she couldn't die? No matter what she did? Or was there a limit? She didn't know. What if she shot herself again? Bled out, if it was possible, or drowned. She had to find out. Her father had never told her anything like that before he ran off with his beautifully Brazilian, vampiric beau. Not that Chevelle could blame him.

Turning her hands over, Chevelle stared at the familiar blue glow that greeted her. It seemed to be working now. Why hadn't it worked the night before? Somewhere between waking up and being attacked by two Vampires, it would have been useful.

As odd as the mood was, when she returned to the room, the sight of Eric still laying there, out of commission, elicited a snort of amusement. Face down like he was, could he even breath? Rather, did he need to breath? Probably not. It was in that moment that Chevelle made a split decision. She needed to go back to work. She needed to find the men that had shot her to shoot them back. Not to serve justice or avenge whomever else they may have killed. That wasn't her problem.

The fact that they had blown her own brains out was, though, and if she was back from whatever coma-esque hell they'd put her in, revenge was on the menu. Especially if she couldn't die. Nothing about living forever sounded appealing, and the fact that she had woken up didn't fill her with the urge to go to church and thank whatever mad god was doing this to her. She was supposed to be dead. So, she would get her revenge and make sure that happened. She'd been cheated out of eternal peace or hellfire or whatever awaited the souls of the lost. Put in some strange fur clad women waiting room and it wasn't fair.

Not to her. Not to people that actually had something to live for or deserved a second chance. She hadn't done anything but be kicked out of her home community and cheat her way into society with the only thing she had to offer. Sex appeal. It wasn't like she was saintly, or even useful to society. She was uneducated and unhirable; without basic schooling or even a scrap of paper saying she'd passed elementary school. For years she had been naive in society and a self elected victim due to her lack of worldly knowledge.

Maybe Eric knew what had happened to her. She would strike a deal with him. Give him that stupid bar and the trouble of injecting serum into humans while convincing them it's not heroin. If he helped. She wouldn't need it anyway and could join Human Edibles. Or cut her client list to the ones that were loaded and subside on side jobs. It would be less of a hassle. Eric would probably just glamour the humans, anyway.

But maybe it was best not to tempt mortality.

* * *

Perched on a low stool, Eric intently focused on the task before him. His fingers nimbly danced over the monochromatic spread of piano keys, merging their notes into an impossibly intricate melody. Almost as if his hands were moving of their own accord they traversed the sheet of the instrument and the song echoed off the wooden floor, back into his own ears as it rang through the barren music hall.

"It's breathtaking, really."

He didn't bother to glance up at the keen gray eyes fixated on him. With her legs draped over the side of the piano, Chevelle angled her body towards him and hummed under her breath. "That's Bach, isn't it?"

"It is." A quick spy of the woman's outfit, rather, lack thereof, was spared. As he confirmed her speculation, the woman turned towards him completely and drew her legs over the piano keys. Provided a full view of the indigo lingerie she'd donned. He continued to play as aforementioned legs found comfortable resting places; one over his shoulder and the other playfully between his thighs. The bare tips of her toes set on the edge of his stool, and Eric's song came to a halt as he peered back up at the coyly straight-faced woman.

She was up to something. Especially if she was being so cordial with him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know. Thought I'd haunt you night and day. Dangle major arteries in your face, talk shit, that sort of thing. This is _your _dream; you tell me." The hint of a smile curled her lips and painted an all too devious aura about the woman. She leaned towards him, her voice an octave lower than before. "I hope you brought that list of adjectives with you... It's about time you read it off."

"How bold of you. You're mistaken, though. There are _verbs_ as well."

That brought a full grin to the woman and she nodded once, still murmuring.

"Hopefully no nouns."

"Only us."

In the fraction of a second, Eric was on his feet and mere inches from the woman. As he closed the distance she leaned away, denying contact but holding his eyes with her own. Curls fell behind her shoulder as she positioned herself on her elbow, still urging him nearer with her inviting expression.

"Fairies aren't exactly my bottle of blood anymore." Eric received a short laugh and shake of Chevelle's head as it languidly fell back. Exposed her jugular. Just as quickly as she voice amusement, her eyes were back on him and she straightened herself.

"Maybe you should give Nymphs a try." Her leg dragged the fabric of his tanktop up his side. Was enough of a positive signal to proceed, but his gaze trailed to the tiled floor at her words. Nymphs? He knew he'd read something about those before, knew exactly what they were from a mythological standpoint, but was unsure of the application of the stories to reality. "What's the big bad Viking gonna do to me, _hm_?"

"Nothing you won't enjoy." Her skin was silken under his palm. He started at the band of her underwear, and just as he snagged the edge, the woman drew a breath that stole his attention again. She dared to inch towards him, stopping with mere centimeters between their mouths. Close enough to feel her voice before he heard it.

"_Mister Northman_, did you think it'd be that easy? You'll have to catch me first." He could hear the smile in her voice and a small chuckle escaped the woman. Just as he started to bridge the gap between them, the space before him was empty. She was gone. Frowning to himself, Eric glanced over the darkened room, yet could see no form beyond the light the had been over them.

He started to move, only to feel a light, playful poke in his side, but as he turned to grab the woman, she was gone again and giggling at her victory. A few short meters away, she grinned at him. The look was met with an upward twist at the corners of Eric's mouth that exposed the whites of his teeth and crinkled the corners of his eyes. It was as if she thought she could outrun him, but the second he was at her side, she squeaked in delight had moved. Tapped his shoulder from behind and managed to weasel away before he could snag her. The next time she sneaked behind him, he had her, though, and before she could so much as breath, she was back against the piano. The keys pressed under her in a discordant mull of noise, and Chevelle fell back into a thrilled laugh as her arms laced around the man's shoulders and the curve of her jaw was met with his mouth.

He'd caught her. And now for something else...

* * *

"_Bitch_, you is lyin'." Standing in the doorway, Lafayette cocked a single eyebrow at the woman before him. He'd known that she worked in the vampire bar and occasionally sold her the narcotic of her choice, but for her to show up on his doorstep. She dragged hands up to her shoulders, and turn her head as her self embrace tightened.

"I fuckin' wish."

The queen of a man's jaw tightened as he stared at his guest, half inclined to turn her away yet in the tugs of sympathetic curiosity.

"I didn't want to go to Sookie... She'd just-"

"Drag it ou'cho head?" A brief nod met him and he drew in a deep breath that was laced with capitulation. With a flick of his eyes, he pushed his door open enough to allow her passage and turned back into his sitting room. Chevelle lightly thanked him, and closed the door behind herself as he set to rolling a joint. Soon, she was joining him, and pulling out her wallet.

"Twenty, and you'll be riding on a _much_ prettier shade'a green than that shirt; _what_ is you wearing?"

Glancing down at herself, Chevelle shrugged. She pulled the money from her wallet and set it on the table, murmuring back.

"The easiest thing to put on. Hell, I'll give you fifty if it knocks me out."

Running his tongue over the adhesive paper, Lafayette felt himself smirk into the joint. As stated, she laid the extra money on the table without hesitation. Good customer service was easy to maintain. As long as aforementioned customers didn't pop up on his porch at ungodly hours of the night. Like she was doing at this very instance, but he could forgive her. Especially if she was paying and smoking with him.

"So," Handing the joint to the woman, Lafayette offered a lighter and watched her spark it as she sank back into his couch. "Wha'chu said about a vampire in yo house?"

"Yeah, he just... Well, I can't sleep with him there. He's in my bed and-"

"In yo' bed?" As the smoke was passed back his way, the man leaned back and eyed the woman as she frowned to herself. Then nodded. Then shook her head.

"Yeah, but- It's not... I didn't-"

The man fanned himself and turned away, cooing under his breath before taking a drag of the weed.

"No need ta explain yo' dirty lil closet to me."

"No, it wasn't like that. Listen, I got shot today."

"Shot?" Though it didn't seem possible, more disbelief crossed the man. He looked Chevelle over once, as if searching for the injury but she took the joint back and swallowed hard. The world was becoming hazed. Lafayette always had good shit on hand.

"In the head. They shot me in the head and-"

"Hold up-" Raising a hand, he leaned forward and peered at Chevelle's face, then back to examine the curls behind her as if he would discover an entry wound. When his search proved fruitless she stared back at him with wide eyes. "I don't see no-"

"Exactly. _That_'s the problem! They shot me in the head, Lafayette, and I woke up in a shallow grave in the middle of fucking nowhere and that Vampire- Eric-"

"Eric?" Before she could even finish her sentence, he was back with more alarm and questions she could hardly answer. "Eric who?"

"Uh, Northman, Eric Northman, he was there and-"

"Aw, nah. Nah, nah, Hookah', you is bringin' some shit to my door," The moment his finger shot up and Chevelle was being ushered to her feet, she knew Lafayette was kicking her out. "You get back to that house and I _suggest_ you make him some breakfast when he wakes up and be waitin' in some pretty lingerie."

She was at the door before she knew it; joint in hand and dumbfounded as the man reached into his pocket.

"But Lafayette, I really need-"

"You _need_ to get back before he find out you gone." A single firm hand gripped her arm and he looked straight into her eyes, completely serious and wide eyed. "Listen, if you got shot in the head and by some miracle didn't die and ain't got no scar to show for it, you'dun had his blood and that means he can find you. I ain't gon' have Eric fucking Northman showing up here thinkin' LaLa got anything to do with this. I don't fuck with Eric, and if you want to survive, you need to give him what he wants. _Whatever_ he wants, because he wants _something_." The man reaching into the pocket of his robe and produced a small back. He pushed it into her hand without breaking eye contact, and dread tingled up Chevelle's spine as he stepped back, palms displayed as if he had washed his hand and his mind of whatever she had told him. Slowly backing into his house, Lafayette gripped his door. Just before closing it, he stated, all too casually for comfort. "You paid for it and you gonna need it."

With that, she was left in the dark on his porch, staring at the solid barrier of his door. Her mind raced, and with nothing else to do, she accepted her exile and released a pent up breath that would have been wasted as anything but a sigh. Weed. He'd given her extra weed.

* * *

**A/n: Hi all! Thank you for your reviews and patience with my slow updates! R&amp;R please, as I love feedback and critiques. This chapter is hot off the press and will be reread and updated for any typos. What do you think is gonna happen next? :D**


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